


A Collection Of Short Works

by TheRoarOfAtlas



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, Gen, M/M, Other, Wrestler Drabbles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2018-11-13 07:10:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 83
Words: 34,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11179653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRoarOfAtlas/pseuds/TheRoarOfAtlas
Summary: A place to put all the drabbles and things I've written for various ask memes.If you like what you read, check out my Tumblr at concussed-to-pieces.tumblr.com as I'm a bit more active on that platform.Enjoy!





	1. One: The Shield

**Author's Note:**

> Fuck, Die For, Have A Family With starring The Shield (was supposed to only pick one for each answer, but I'm bad at things so here they all are!). Spec Ops!AU.

Fuck: Seth, Roman or Dean. A mission gone wrong, a “we’re not getting out of here alive” kind of scenario, I’d imagine. Stranded behind enemy lines, under extreme duress, an equipment malfunction at the worst possible junction? Regardless, it’s down to the wire and probably not the _best_ time for this, but…

Seth: “ _If we get out of here alive I have a couple of questions but right now, **right now** , I need you to fuck me because I will be **damned** if I die without knowing what you feel like_.”

Roman: “ _I’m sorry I waited until now to fucking tell you what you mean to me. But I wouldn’t change any choice I’ve made, because then I wouldn’t have met you. I…fuck, **really?** You too? Alright…alright, get those pants off_.” 

Dean: “ _C’mon, get that mouth of yours over here. An’ the rest of you. We’re goin’ out with a fuckin’ **bang** one way or another, an’ it’s been an honor workin’ with your sexy, smart ass_.”

* * *

Die For: Seth, Roman or Dean. A sniper bullet, the sunlight glaring off the scope the only indicator that cover has been compromised, and a split second after shoving them out of the way it’s over…

Seth: “ _Jesus, why the hell-?! Oh. No, nonono, no not like this! **Fuck!**_ ”

Roman: “ _Whoa! Shit, you okay? Easy, what…oh. You…oh no, oh God.”  
_

Dean: “ _You fuckin’ **idiot** , I already saw them! Why the hell didja’…for **fuck’s** sake, **I’m** the one wearin’ the fuckin’ vest!”_

* * *

Have A Family With: Seth, Roman or Dean. Years of hard work doing shady business finally pays off, and normalcy is no longer a distant dream. A house isn’t a home until it’s made one…

Seth: “ _I’ve been thinking, we should definitely adopt a pet. A dog. Specifically this dog that I have in my arms right now. Don’t close the door in my face, you know you can’t resist him!_ ”

Roman: “ _The paperboy keeps giving me weird looks when I’m out with the kids in the front yard. I’m almost positive he knows. I…no, I’m **not** setting a perimeter, I’m just…doing reconnaissance. I’m not intimid–he’s a **child**._ ”

Dean: “ _Never thought I’d have this kind of thing. Figured I’d be a lifer or dead as a fuckin’ doornail by twenty-five. This…I mean, it’s not too bad. Dunno’ if I’m a good dad though…all this ‘kissin’ scraped knees’ stuff takes some gettin’ used to._ ”


	2. Two: Mojo Rawley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What Gets Them Flustered starring Mojo Rawley.

Mojo is well-known for his enthusiasm, and he usually seems to associate with others who can maintain that level of energy. He does rough casual touches like bro-hugs, back slaps, etc,. The person that he likes tends to be on the outer edge of his circle, more of an observer than anything else.

So when Mojo finally manages to get his hands on them (maybe at an afterparty or something along those lines), naturally he contacts them as hard as he does with all his other friends, “ _hey, think fast!_ ” and _floors_ them. And now, standing over them, he feels something that he’s never felt before. _Embarrassed_.

“ _Oh my God, I uh…whoops? Fuck, I’m sorry, I’m such a…yeah lemme’ help you up, shit, are you okay?_ ”


	3. Three: Jeff Hardy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Best Places To Kiss On Their Body starring Jeff Hardy.

Jeff is not overly sensitive, he’s been doing this for A Long Time. That being said, he’s _never_ been above reacting when someone kisses, licks, or even just rubs their fingers over the jut of his hipbone, specifically the left side. It _should_ be ticklish, that’s what he expects. But it’s never quite so simple as just a tickle.

“ _Y’know what that does to me, sweetheart, don’t tease…_ ”


	4. Four: Ambreigns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fears And Phobias starring Dean Ambrose and Roman Reigns.

Dean, fear: He worries a _lot_ about Roman taking another hit to the head. Ever since the ‘replica briefcase’ incident, that is. Every wince he sees is over-analyzed, every scripted barricade crash is watched like a hawk because Dean knows, Dean _knows_ how easy it is to slip or catch a wire wrong and you may not even know you go dark for a minute but then the damage is done and it’s too late and–

He just worries, is all. He’s not scared.

Dean, phobia: No pyro, never any pyro, “ _I don’t give a shit if it’s Wrestlemania fuck you I don’t need that shit_.” He’s not fucking _Goldberg_ , he doesn’t want the fucking sparks pinging all over him, _singe marks everywhere on his back_ – 

Nope. No thanks.

“ _I’m not **scared** of jack shit…oh fuck you, tryin’ to leave without givin’ me a goodbye kiss, get your ass back here Ro._”

* * *

Roman, fear: Roman doesn’t get scared by much nowadays, he’s kind of seen a lot in his stint. But…sometimes Dean gets into bad spaces, curls up into himself, doesn’t want to talk. And it kills Roman every time because he knows it’s better not to touch, just to be quiet with him but he wants to _help_. He’s never been good at standing by. He hopes he’s getting better at it. Dean occasionally seeks him out now, tucks himself into his side as a silent plea to be held. That’s sort of like an indicator that he’s doing the right thing, right?

Roman, phobia: Heights are this superman’s Kryptonite. Every muscle in his body screamed in panic when Foley started with this whole ‘shark-cage’ business, because he knew, he _knew_ that probably at some point his ass would end up in that cage, dangling over the ring. 

“ _I never said you were **scared** , you just seemed a little…perturbed that I almost didn’t give you a goodbye kiss, Ambrose. I was only teasing, I’d never do that. C’mere.”_


	5. Five: Seth Rollins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What Gets Them Flustered starring Seth Rollins.

Seth is immensely competitive. That _kind_ of goes without saying. He has to be the one doing the right thing, the best, _all_ _the time_. Having the last word is almost as important to him as _air_.

So he feels like he can’t fucking breathe when he realizes that he has in fact, been trying to unlock the wrong rental car for thirty fucking minutes while the rightful renter of said car has been arguing with him for thirty fucking minutes about the fact that it’s obviously _their car_ it has _their McDonald’s bag_ on the floor it is clearly _their fucking car you bearded weirdo_. When he finally raises his hand and clicks the ‘panic’ button on the stupid fucking plastic key fob, smug grin already in place because he _knows_ he’s won, the alarm that rings out from an identical car across the way is enough to make his face go hot. 

“ _Well, that’s just fucking great. I…you just hit the button on **your** key, didn’t you?! Mine’s probably broken! I swear to God, son of a…_ ”


	6. Six: Baron Corbin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What It Takes To Make Them Cry starring Baron Corbin.

Outside of the ring Baron Corbin isn’t nearly as belligerent; he values his small circle of friends (well, actually their pets) over anything else. So the day he accidentally clips a stray dog with his car is officially on his calendar as The Worst Day Of His Life. 

He immediately pulls over, cuts the engine and damn near rips the door off in his haste to get out of the car. He whistles for the dog, squinting in the twilight. A pitiful whimper catches his attention and he bolts to the side of the road where the skinny mutt is laying in the dirt. Baron doesn’t really care that the little fucker probably has mange or fleas or some other shit, he just bundles it silently up in his shirt so that it can’t move or bite him. He wants to say that everything’s going to be okay but his throat is so choked he can barely breathe. He’s not _crying_ , he never cries, it’s just. The dust from the road or something.

“ _You… **God** , you’re definitely the world’s shittiest wolf, but I…I’ll g-get you taken care of. S’gonna’ be okay_.”


	7. Seven: Baron Corbin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Best Places To Kiss On Their Body starring Baron Corbin.

Baron is absolutely one hundred percent a neck man. Signed and sealed, start mouthing over his neck and he is _gone_. There is the whole semi-dominant aspect of it that he can’t get enough of, the marking of territory in a highly-visible area. For something a little less carnal, he will _never_ acknowledge it but kisses or gentle rubbing on his faded stretch marks gets him to make this odd noise of content in his throat that is _dangerously_ close to purring.

“ _I think you’re crazy babe, I don’t make **any** weird sounds. **Ever**_. _Didn’t even notice you were doin’ anything_. _Nope_.”


	8. Eight: Dolph Ziggler

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Humiliating Memories starring Dolph Ziggler.

Oh sure, everyone could ramble about the Spirit Squad. Ha ha, weren’t they an absolute riot, dig them back up for old time’s sake. After so long with that crap hanging over his head, he kind of got used to people whipping out his proverbial ‘baby pictures’. But the most humiliating thing that had ever happened to Dolph (thus far in his weirdly turbulent career) was the way he’d been _foisted_ aside after his battle with The Miz. Tossed out like garbage, like they hadn’t told a Match Of The Fucking Year story. “ _This is all I have, this is all I want to do!_ ”, begging and pleading for the option to stay with the company. And for fucking _what?_ To duke it out with Kalisto and Apollo, more of the endless back and forth in mid-card hell? 

“ _I don’t care what I have to go through, at the end of my career the fucking Universe will know **exactly** who steals the show!_ ”


	9. Nine: Seth Rollins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guilty Pleasures starring Seth Rollins.

He may have a…slight problem when it came to down time. Any down time. _Ever_. Sitting somewhere, not doing anything? Shutting his brain off? The concept had become so foreign to him that whenever he was gifted with time off he accepted it greedily, slathered on sunscreen, put in his ear buds and just… _existed_. 

Not _too_ often, mind you, and _never_ with anyone else. They couldn’t possibly learn his filthy secret. That Seth Rollins, workaholic extraordinaire, first to the gym, last out of the pool, was actually a massive couch potato cleverly disguised as a sports entertainer.

“ _I have fucking **earned** this break, obviously. And the next one I take. Probably the one after that, too_.”


	10. Ten: Jeff Hardy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What Gets Them Flustered starring Jeff Hardy.

A daredevil at heart with a tropical bird’s color scheme, not much could get under his skin. But meeting and having to constantly interact with new people never came easy for Jeff. Matt was miles better at it than he was, able to command the flow of the conversation through theatrics or enthusiastic gestures. Jeff just tended to stay quiet by Matt’s elbow until it was his time to shine in the ring.

From the top of the ladder everything seemed so small. It always did. The signs the fans held up got more creative each time he saw them from his lofty perch, all decorated with neon markers that blazed even in the dim light of the house shows. One in particular, on this particular night, caught Jeff odd in the pit of his stomach. He stopped, hell, the whole _planet_ seemed to stop even while the ladder wobbled precariously underneath him. _  
_

_WE SEE YOU, JEFF!_

Jeff finally shook himself, grinning as wide as he could and raising his hands like usual.

“ _You ain’t seen nothin’ yet_.”


	11. Eleven: Roman Reigns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dark Secrets/Skeletons In The Closet starring Roman Reigns.

He’d known about Rollins. He’d known, or at least he’d suspected it to the point where he might as well have known. He never told Dean because he knew it would absolutely _wreck_ the other man, the one who always talked about _don’t need anyone_ but also _you’re my brothers_ in the same breath. It was kinder this way, easier to go in and pretend that it came as a shock instead of cornering the _obviously_ already unhappy Seth and forcing him to stay, to try and work this out. 

At least, that’s what Roman told himself right before the chair connected with his back, the words, “ _there’s always a plan B…_ ” still ringing in his ears.


	12. Twelve: Baron Corbin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guilty Pleasures starring Baron Corbin.

He will ‘accidentally’ buy ‘things he wants to wear’ online in sizes that are too small for him so he can ask his partner to wear them. It’s a guilty pleasure because he doesn’t really buy clothes all that often, aside from maybe a nice suit and that’s _very_ much something he has to go to a tailor for. But he can’t seem to help himself when it comes to seeing things that will look good on them. He spaces it out as best as he can though; he would hate for them to think that he’s doing it on purpose!

“ _Babe they got my size wrong, **again.** Guess you have another new vest…yeah, it’s pretty cool-looking, right?_ ”

They definitely know he’s doing it on purpose.


	13. Thirteen: Ambreigns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What Gets Them Flustered and Bad Or Petty Habits starring Dean Ambrose and Roman Reigns.

What Gets Them Flustered: The first time Rollins pointed at the _Obviously A Broom Closet Are You Fucking Kidding Me How Are We All Going To Fit In There_ , Ambrose got so nervous he thought he might hack up a lung. Rollins was one thing, he and Rollins had been back and forth so long in developmental they were brothers in all but blood. 

But with Reigns? _Reigns?!_

And of _course_ Seth shoved Dean into the middle, Roman pressed up against his side like he was _trying_ to get fucking bitten. Thank _God_ Rollins held the camera, because Dean knew he was shaking like a fucking leaf. But he stayed, he rambled some shit about them being _Hounds_ and _dispensers of Justice_ and then he fucking _stuttered_ when Roman’s hand landed on the small of his back, on the bare skin where his tank top rode up above his belt.

“ _A-An’ if you don’t believe we’re the baddest sons of bitches out there, well, it’s your funeral…”_

* * *

Bad Or Petty Habits: Roman knows it’s mean. He knows it’s mean and it’s almost _assuredly_ flat-out rude, but at this point it’s ingrained behavior to call the hotel ahead of time and ask for the room beside one Seth Rollins if it’s available. And sometimes it isn’t, and he and Ambrose spend the long night hours talking or actually fucking _sleeping_ and he definitely doesn’t hope against hope that some night Dean will just _be in the same bed as him already_. 

But if that fucking room is open Roman _books_ it, texts Dean and eagerly awaits the evening’s entertainment. He’s not sure whether they’d ever let him commentate on a match, maybe later in his career, but the way he calls Seth’s ‘matches’ always has Ambrose _rolling_ with laughter. It’s Seth’s own fault for always being so damn loud.

“ _I dunno’ King, sounds like the same crap he told the last girl! Let’s find out if the kid can walk the walk…was that a Sidewalk Slam or just another malfunction at the junction?!_ ”


	14. Fourteen: Sami Callihan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bad Or Petty Habits, Grudges Or Vendettas, What Gets Them Flustered/What It Takes To Make Them Cry starring Sami Callihan.

Bad Or Petty Habits: Callihan had a tendency to _ramble_. Which he knew was _considered_ a bad habit. He felt like the drinking may be the worse one, but his rambling was definitely up there. Last time he checked there wasn’t exactly a ‘Ramblers Anonymous’ he could throw himself into. Ages ago when he’d had to suffer through school he vaguely remembered some smarmy fuck of a girl telling him that, “ _you talk too much, can’t you just be quiet?_ ” She didn’t fucking _get_ it, of _course_ she didn’t get it, the way words howled inside of him until they escaped, why the hell _would_ she get it?

So _what_ if he fucking rambled? Words didn’t hurt. Fuck her anyway.

* * *

Grudges Or Vendettas: Hell, the shorter list would be figuring out who he _didn’t_ have some beef with. Callihan knew he’d been inflicted on this planet, on this specific group of ‘tough guys’ for a reason. If any of these idiots _thought_ holding a grudge with him was a smart idea, he’d put a crimp in their fucking spine without a second thought. But everyone seemed to be biding their time, lurking harder than Egotistico did after he got unmasked. 

Fine by him. The more the _fucking_ merrier.

* * *

What Gets Them Flustered/What It Takes To Make Them Cry: Sami knew better than anyone that life is fucking short, do what (or who) you want to _when_ you want to. That being said, he’s…he’s not so good at dealing with people being nice to him. Those screaming words get all kinds of fucked up in his head when the mom of some chick he railed to kingdom fucking come ( _and come_ ) last night pushes open the bedroom door while her daughter is in the fucking shower and he’s just…laying there, knowing he has to leave but not really wanting to. She puts a hand on his forehead and tells him to stay put because he’s got a fever and for _some fucking reason_ that’s _almost_ enough to get him to crack. 

He knows he’s probably sick as a dog, hot flush all over him and he feels like shit, his lower lip starts fucking _quivering_ and he’s _vulnerable_ and she’s _obviously_ a mom and _that’s_ why, that’s why, he’s out of his skull right now and Callihan doesn’t fucking cry, _ever_. He doesn’t, he _won’t_ , he _can’t_.

Sure feels like he does, though.


	15. Fifteen: Dean Ambrose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What It Takes To Make Them Cry starring Dean Ambrose.

He’s known for being the guy that will slaver, go all out and lose his _mind_ in the ring to make the match good. Whether there’s a story or not. But anytime they set him loose on one of his brothers is a _special_ occasion. So he feels like he’s on fire when he finally, _finally_ gets both of them in the same ring, for his own goddamn strap of all things. Emotions run high, Rollins pulling his flippy bullshit and Reigns with those heavy strikes and the whole time Dean’s happier than he’s ever been in his life because _this_ was how it should have ended. 

When it’s all over and he’s _still_ king of the fucking hill, he can’t help the way he breaks down behind the curtain as Roman pulls him, pulls _Seth_ into a hug and Seth hugs _back_ and it’s so good, too good for someone like him.

“ _Blew the f-fuckin’ roof off the place, didn’t we?_ ”


	16. Sixteen: Roman Reigns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Best Places To Kiss On Their Body starring Roman Reigns.

Roman likes knuckle kisses. Rather, kisses that _start_ at his knuckles, wrap around the inside of his wrist and stretch all the way up to his shoulders. He prefers being _savored,_ and is more than content to wait for the time when he can be appreciated. Everything about what he does for a job is frantic, from travel to ringwork to packing up and heading off again. It’s nice to be grabbed by the hand every once in a while, be forced to slow the hell down.

“ _Baby you know you make me fucking **wild** when you do that, so do it again…_”


	17. Seventeen: Seth Rollins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bad Or Petty Habits starring Seth Rollins.

He would _never_ have any sort of bad habit. Absolutely _never_. It was beneath him! He hadn’t got this far by letting little, useless crap get under his skin. 

…but he _might_ have stolen all of Roman’s shampoo and had a bubble bath in it on _several_ occasions. Regularly, if he was being honest. Reigns had _started_ it, he ripped his favorite crossfit shirt and _never_ replaced it! Rollins would _absolutely_ justify being petty if someone else started it. 

“ _All you’d have to do is say you’re sorry, grab me a new shirt and maybe I’d stop. **Maybe.**_ ”


	18. Eighteen: Jeff Hardy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things They’ll Never Admit starring Jeff Hardy.

He knows there’s been a hell of a lot of things he’s walked away from, limped away from, been carried away from that he shouldn’t have. The streak of dumb luck in him must be a mile wide with all the shit he’s pulled through. He barely remembers the bad _thud_ of his own skull hitting those steps after he fell off the cage, but he sure as hell remembers the cold silence of _uh-oh_ , _too deep_ that seemed to last for an eternity afterwards.

He jokes about it even though he’s pretty sure he’s on _more_ than borrowed time at this point.

“ _Heh, you know me! Too dumb to quit, right?_ ”


	19. Nineteen: Jon Moxley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grudges And Vendettas, What Gets Them Flustered/What It Takes To Make Them Cry and Things They’ll Never Admit starring Kitten!Mox.

[What Kitten Is From](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7950436/chapters/18178507)

 

Grudges And Vendettas: He’d known practically from the second he cupped her face that he was fucked. The way her eyes went wide and she stared at the guy, _that guy_ , whoever that fucker was over his shoulder was enough to get his blood boiling. Who the _hell_ did this asshole think he was, who the _hell_ would touch someone like her with bad intentions? It made Mox grit his teeth so hard his jaw throbbed. But he wasn’t lying. He didn’t fuck her in exchange for _anything_. Keeping an eye out for her ex-boyfriend was…

Well, freelancing was what they called it. Sometimes.

* * *

What Gets Them Flustered/What It Takes To Make Them Cry: If there was one thing in the sea of things he was bad at that stood out, it was his inability to handle emotional distress. Jon, for all his posturing and snapping of teeth, was empathetic to a fault. It always ripped him apart when she had a bad day, when she’d do that thing where she cried in the shower and he couldn’t help but pace outside the bathroom door with his fists clenched because this was something he couldn’t do _anything_ about and that _unsettled_ him. He wanted, oh _God_ he wanted more than anything to be able to wipe her tears away and wipe all the shit memories away with them, kiss all her problems back to the fucking Stone Age.

But he couldn’t, and the night she had that nightmare almost broke him. Having to catch her up in the sheet and cradle her to his fucking chest while she thrashed and pleaded…Jon would freely confess later that a lot of the tears staining the sheet the next morning weren’t hers.

* * *

Things They’ll Never Admit: He wasn’t sure how she felt about marriage. They hadn’t really discussed it. Heck, they’d never even discussed _engagement_. Mox wasn’t going to be the one to bring it up, either. He’d seen too many guys fall out of love over something as dumb as _popping the question_. He already couldn’t imagine his life without waking up beside her, he didn’t need her to share his shitty last name or give him a better collar than the one he already had around his neck. She was _enough_ , she was good and warmth and everything that he had been missing in his life. She was _more_ than enough.

He still wondered, though.


	20. Twenty: Bray Wyatt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guilty Pleasures starring Bray Wyatt.

Bray did a lot of _listening_ , even when he shouldn’t. There were things that _whispered_ , things that crawled and wriggled beneath the surface like worms. And sometimes They said things to him. Things he shouldn’t hear, things _no_ mortal man should hear. But Bray had always been so curious, so _damned_ curious and maybe more than a little hungry for power. 

Now, fully grown as he was, he did his best to fill his time with _speaking_ but They knew better. They had tasted his hunger, his longing. Bray would have his power, at the cost of _listening_.


	21. Twenty-One: Shane McMahon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What Gets Them Flustered starring Shane McMahon.

People (whether talent or otherwise) being _disrespectful_ was something that Shane had never learned how to manage. He could handle debates, he could handle bending the rules. Shit, he was the spawn of Vince McMahon. If there was _one_ fucking thing he could do it was _argue_. But nothing got him more heated than people who thought they could brush him off or go over his head _because_ he was Vince’s kid. Blatant dismissal of him always left him with that sick feeling in his chest, mouth slightly open like he had something to say even if he didn’t. It was awful, he _hated_ being reduced to something that so closely resembled his formulative years of all heart and no fucking brains to show for it, the kid that demanded _Kurt fucking Angle_ to throw him through that fucking glass again because he would be damned if he let his dad down like that.

He could do everything right and still come up out of sorts and pissed-off.

“ _You wanna’ get in the ring with Shane O’ Mac? Try **earning** it, buddy_.”


	22. Twenty-Two: Jeff Hardy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fears/Phobias starring Jeff Hardy.

He’s not afraid of anything. He’s _never_ been afraid of anything. He’s never felt his knees go weak when he’s had to speak in the ring, never had his stomach drop out at the top of a ladder. Never. Because once you admit it, that makes it real. 

So he’s never been afraid. 

When he does that move like usual and something fucks up with the ladder and then Mercury’s face is split open, it makes him pause. He’s not _afraid_ , never been afraid. But the way Matt looks at him afterwards makes him… _nervous_. Because it could have been Matt, it could have been Matt that shifted the weight and took the metal to the face and cracked his orbital. He can already read the disappointment in Matt’s body language, already knows the lecture he’ll get once the match is done, _why are you so goddamn careless, man?_ He knows. 

He’s not…he’s not _careless_ , his body just feels heavy and awkward whenever he knows, in the back of his mind, that there’s a chance he could fuck Matt up with whatever bullshit he had half-planned out.

“ _I’ll do better next time, man. I promise.”_


	23. Twenty-Three: Sheamus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grudges And Vendettas starring Suplex City!Sheamus.

He considered himself a pretty lenient guy. Oh sure, he and Regal ribbed back and forth, always with the Ireland vs. England thing where Regal would threaten to overrun the Brogue with his veritable _horde_ of semi-underage plug-uglies and Sheamus would threaten right back to let Dean off the leash in his little china shop. All in good fun, William was an invaluable friend and they had to keep the rivalry alive _somehow_.

Grudges though…he’d never really _forgiven_ his parents for tossing him out. And he knew deep down that it was unhealthy to hang onto something like that, to let it fester in his chest like a goddamn curse. But he thought about it while he made the day’s bread, and he thought about it while he cut up vegetables for the _soup deeje or_. Sometimes he thought about it at night, staring up at the ceiling of the Brogue while he laid on his bed. Soon enough though, Mite would slip into the room like a shadow and curl up against his side, and then Ambrose would lazily slouch into position on the other side of him, cradling him with a possessive arm flung over his torso. And Sheamus would finally find rest in the presence of the two beautiful people he now shared his life with.

“ _Ya’ all that I’ve go’ now, Ambrose an’ wee Mite. An’…well, I couldn’ be happier, really_.”


	24. Twenty-Four: Jeff Hardy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guilty Pleasures starring Jeff Hardy.

He horded art supplies (as any good artist would), but before Maxel was born he went through them at a snail’s pace. There wasn’t much that he could do to financially justify getting new Prismacolors if he hadn’t used up the old ones yet. When Matt and Reby had Maxel, though, was when things started to shift. 

Maxel _loved_ crayons. Specifically, Crayolas. Specifically, _chewing_ on Crayolas. At first Jeff had been horrified, _oh my God this kid is going to die_ , luckily he always peeled the wrappers off his crayons so at least Maxel hadn’t eaten any paper in the process of putting the brightly-colored stick in his mouth and gumming it to death. But once Maxel figured out that the crayons made _marks_ on things? Game over for Mommy and Daddy’s nicely painted walls. And Jeff _wanted_ to feel bad about it, but at the same time…

“ _C’mon Maxel, you and I are gonna’ go splurge on some nice markers_.”


	25. Twenty-Five: Roman Reigns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guilty Pleasures starring Roman Reigns.

He’s never been one to feel guilty about doing something that he likes. He works hard and he knows that if he wants to burn a few hours on a video game with the twins instead of in the gym, that’s kind of his prerogative. But his ultimate luxury was _sleeping in_. The giddiness of not having to set an alarm for the next morning was something he could never put a price on, the sheer _comfort_ of waking up whenever the hell he wanted to and knowing that he didn’t _have_ to get up. He _could_ , but he wouldn’t be screwed if he _didn’t_ , if he buried his face in the pillow and resumed total relaxation mode.

Of course before he knew it someone would be kicking down his door, Dean or Renee looking for Dean or Corbin looking for Dean…really, Roman had no idea when he’d become the information hub for The Lunatic but here he was, safely ensconced in blankets and _no_ amount of knocking would budge him from his cocoon.


	26. Twenty-Six: Roman Reigns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Manifested superpowers, found out the person they like has superpowers, took care of the person they like after a tough night, accidentally blurted out their feelings starring Roman Reigns.

_What the hell just happened?_   Was all Roman could come up with at first. Christ, his head _hurt_. He struggled to get his legs back underneath him. His friend ( _yes, **friend**_ ) was on the ground beside him. Roman felt his stomach drop out. They’d shoved him as hard as they could, pushed him out of the way and he’d gone a little fuzzy after that, just remembering them standing over his body with some sort of shimmering blue shield they’d conjured up out of _thin fucking air_ , yelling at someone that “ _you don’t get to touch him!_ ”

 

The maniacal laughter should have been the first indicator, really. Resident supervillains weren’t _uncommon_ , but they were very distinctive. Roman clenched his fists and then a hand grabbed his leg. “Help me up, for fuck’s sake.” His friend gasped, looking too rattled for Roman to be comfortable.

 

“Stay put, I’ll…I’ll deal with this.” He tried to sound firm, like he knew what he was doing.

 

“You don’t _get_ it Ro, you’ve got nothing, you’re _defenseless_ against this guy. Now _help_ me.”

 

“I’m not letting him hurt you again, _stay put!_ ” Roman felt his skin tingle suddenly and he squared up, facing off with a villain who would probably fry him with their brain or something. The caped douchebag apparently thought the _normie_ threatening to kick his ass was the funniest shit he’d seen all day. Roman gritted his teeth, the tingling growing stronger the closer that guy got to him. Like his body knew he was in danger. But he wasn’t abandoning his…his _friend_ , they were his friend and nothing else.

 

“Stay the hell away from them!”

 

The laughter was grating on every last nerve Roman had, the hysterical, crazed noise making him want to yell just to _drown it out_. He had always hated how loud his own voice could be, it made him feel awkward when he tried to hold a normal conversation and ended up spending most of it regulating his volume. But maybe here, it would do him some good? Intimidate this guy enough to get him to back off at least.

 

So he tightened his fists, opened his mouth and–

 

The windows in the apartments across the street shattered under the concussive force of the roar he let out. The villain stared wide-eyed down at the swath of torn-up roofing beside his boot and in the midst of his _holy shit I can do that?!_ moment Roman cursed inwardly. Because of fucking _course_ he’d missed.

 

“Come any closer to them and the next shot won’t be a warning!” He threatened quickly, maintaining his protective stance over his friend. “They’re the most _important_ thing in the world to me and I will do _anything_ to keep them safe!”

 

…

 

“I’ve been like this for a while.” His friend said quietly as Roman continued to carefully clean their back with a warm washcloth. They had some nasty scrapes from where they’d slid across the roof. “I…I didn’t want you to stop being my friend. I didn’t want you to be scared of me.” They admitted, rubbing at their eyes.

 

“ _Listen_ , powers or not I wasn’t about to stand by while that guy laid into you.” Roman coasted over a bruise. “You deserve someone who will watch your back even when the odds are shit, okay? I’m more than happy to do that for you, so just…don’t cry.”

 

“Did you mean what you said, earlier?” They asked shyly, making Roman freeze. “When you said I was the most important thing in the world to you?”

 

“I…uh.” Roman swallowed hard. _Well, that secret’s out. Me and my big mouth_. “Yeah, I did. Sorry if I…made you uncomfortable, or something. It just kind of…I mean, it felt right to say, I guess?” He fumbled with the washcloth.

 

“I think it’s sweet. Thank you.” They pecked him on the cheek, smiling. “You’re the most important thing in the world to me, too. You wanna’ help me kick some ass, maybe save the city?”

 

“I’d like to see anyone try to stop us.”


	27. Twenty-Seven: Sami Callihan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Figured out that they feel better during a certain type of weather and had the person they like put them in a submission hold/take them to the ground starring Sami Callihan.

Callihan likes _rain_. He likes it because if only for a little while, everyone else is just as fucking _miserable_ as he is because _oh no, look at all the puddles, my shoes are ruined, I left my windows open_. He likes it because it makes everything fuzzier around the edges, cools shit down. The sound it makes seems to work some witchy bullshit on him, lets him sleep better. So he likes when it rains, but he _really_ likes when it rains at night.

 

…

 

Sami felt like he maybe… _maybe_ should have known that always teasing them about the fact that they couldn’t “ _grab him right_ ” would eventually bite him in the ass. “Okay, uncle, uncle.” He choked out, tapping his hand on their arm. They had wrapped their body around him from behind and cinched in tight enough to make his ribs creak, thighs tight over his own and arms locked across his chest.

 

He couldn’t help but be a little proud that they had _actually_ taken his lessons to heart, and the pain was definitely at an enjoyable level. But then they refused to let go and things got a little… _heated_. Callihan started struggling and was flabbergasted to discover that no, he really _couldn’t_ get free unless they wanted to release him. “Hey uh, you wanna’ maybe let me go, before I fall asleep or something?” He grunted.

 

“Nope.” Their voice was barely there, sliding across the back of his neck. Sami didn’t know he could break out in a sweat _quite_ that fast, who was fucking with the thermostat?

 

“Listen kid, I-” Whatever he’d been about to say died in his throat when a hot, wet mouth pressed a kiss to the side of his neck, _just_ beneath his ear. _Fuck_. They _had_ to have felt his erection stir to life against their thigh.

 

“Gotcha’.” That voice crooned in his ear and then he was being let go.

 

Callihan snagged their hand on the way by though, quickly slamming them onto their back. “Can’t _get_ what was already yours, y’ little shit.” He growled.


	28. Twenty-Eight: Baron Corbin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Accidentally blurted out their feelings starring Baron Corbin.

He wasn’t good at…whatever the hell this was. The warm feeling in his chest every time he looked at them, the way their smiles made him want to smile. If there was one thing Baron _hated_ it was admitting defeat, but he knew this was an area he was fucking stumped in. Why the fuck did they have to _smile_ at him like that? It was so fucking exasperating.

 

And then they got put into the same room as him one night, some bull about no more rooms being available and of _course_ his mother raised him right so Baron announced he would take the couch with very little ceremony.

 

“I’m taking the couch.”

 

“Why don’t you like me?” They asked suddenly, the tone of their voice making Baron pause. They sounded _upset_ , why the heck would they be upset?

 

“I think I’d need to have an opinion of you in order to not like you.” He shrugged, relatively certain he was just digging his hole deeper. He _definitely_ had an opinion of them, but it probably wasn’t something that they wanted to hear.

 

“The way you act around me kind of makes me feel like you don’t like me. You’ll talk to the other guys but whenever I try to talk to you, you get all quiet or you make excuses to leave.” They persisted.

 

“ _Look_ , I don’t really think you want to know. It’s just…easier for me to not talk to you, okay?” Baron started digging through his suitcase for his sleeping clothes.

 

“What did I do? I’m sorry if I…if I pissed you off or something. I didn’t mean to.” They mumbled.

 

Baron got to his feet and carefully took them underneath their arms, picked them up and placed them out of his path of forward motion. “Nothing you did. Stop smiling at me so much.”

 

“ _Oh_.” They grabbed his hand before he could escape to the bathroom. Baron didn’t know why, but he didn’t really want to pull away. “Baron do you…do you _like_ me?”

 

“ _No_.” Baron snarled, flipping his hand to wrap around their wrist. “I don’t know. Yeah. Maybe. Fuck, maybe, I don’t _fucking_ know. Shut the fuck up.” He pinned them to the wall, dropping his pajamas on the floor as he kissed them fiercely. Their fingers tugged at his shirt, pulling him even closer. “Stop. Fucking smiling so much.” He finally panted against their mouth.

 

“You do!” They gasped, that _ridiculous_ smile back again and Baron found himself smiling back, the left side of his mouth quirking up.

 

“Absolutely not.”

 


	29. Twenty-Nine: Kenny Omega

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Received a gift from the person they like starring Kenny Omega.

“Hey you, how are you doing?”

 

Kenny had been having a _terrible_ week. Between delayed transportation, general aches and misplacing his preferred set of tights it had just been God awful. But then his friend had showed up to his tiny apartment with a wrapped box and hell, even without opening it Kenny felt miles better. Mostly just because they were here with him, but hey, a _present!_

 

“I knew you were having kind of a hard time and I figured I would try to cheer you up a little.” They said with a smile, accepting the hug he offered and tousling his already-messy curls.

 

“You’re the best, you know that?” Kenny always did his best to ignore how right they felt in his arms. His lifestyle didn’t really allow much downtime for…well, he barely had time for them as is. But they were a _very_ good friend so he did his absolute best to materialize time when he could.

 

“Okay okay, open it already!” They insisted, bouncing in place impatiently. Kenny laughed, tearing at the tape and paper.

 

It was a red and blue box. His eyes widened as he realized almost instantly what it was. “No fucking way. How the hell did you-?” They pressed a kiss to his cheek, grinning at the expression on his face. “I had Nick and Matt looking out for this, shit, I had _Woods_ looking, how did _you_ get your hands on it before all of _us_ nerds?”

 

“I have my ways. Want to try it out? I’ll let you play Breath Of The Wild first.”

 

Kenny pressed a sloppy, playful kiss to their forehead, unable to keep from laughing again when they made a sound of disgust. “You’re damn right you will!”


	30. Thirty: Chris Jericho

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took care of the person they like after a tough night starring Chris Jericho.

“I won’t ask.” Chris sighed, passing them a fresh ice pack for their black eye. “I know you don’t wanna’ talk about it so I won’t ask but _shit_ , you need to talk to the cops about this if you won’t talk to me.” His friend always showed up in distressing states, different marks and bruises marring their skin in a fashion that made his blood want to boil. They were so stubborn though. They never explained anything and it was an absolute clusterfuck of confusion for everyone’s favorite Gift.

 

“Easy for you to say.” They huffed around the plastic baggie.

 

“Look, you want something to drink? Scotch? Whiskey? Think I got some peach schnapps around here somewhere, if you’d prefer that?” Chris offered, startled when all they did was shake their head and actually _lean_ into him. Normally they’d sit straight up, apply their ice and wait until Chris dozed off and be on their merry way. “Hey…” Jericho wrapped an arm around their shoulders, his free hand moving up to stroke their hair gently. “You want me to come with you to the police station?”

 

“…maybe tomorrow, Chris.”

 

They were always gone when he woke up, but Chris did his best to patch them up before the morning came.


	31. Thirty-One: Roman Reigns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dealt with their first episode of Miz TV (or an applicable news station/TV show for their universe), found out the person they like has superpowers, and accidentally blurted out their feelings starring werewolf!Roman.

It took him a minute to realize that _he_ was the one snarling. Roman wasn’t sure why the hell The Miz got under his skin as much as he did. It was probably the fact that the guy postured harder than someone like Roman ever had, even in his younger years when he was still growing into being who he was. Every word out of his mouth about his accomplishments made Roman’s fingers strangle the microphone tighter and tighter, the tattooed skin of his shoulder shifting uneasily barely in his field of vision. Until he couldn’t wait, could _not_ wait a second longer and lashed out like the wild animal that he fucking was.

 

One punch sent The Miz bumbling across his stupid carpet to lay in a heap, cradling his broken sunglasses. Roman knew now was the prime time for those _stupid_ fucking one liners Creative loved having him say, but all he could muster up was the world’s scariest sounding snap of teeth that were a _little_ too sharp before dropping the microphone and storming off.

 

He barely resisted the urge to kick The Miz in the head on the way by.

 

…

 

The phrase _holy shit_ came to mind, as well as _I definitely should have known that_. The fact that his friend could do _that_ was…well, badass, in a word. “Why didn’t you ever tell me? Shit, you took all _my_ wolfy full-moon garbage in stride but you never…why?” Roman asked in confusion, reaching out a hand.

 

“Hi, yeah, that’s still real fire big guy. Don’t touch.” They said quickly, scooting back a little in the fireplace. “I don’t know, I figured you had enough stuff to deal with. I’m not exactly unpredictable when it comes to my uh… _gift_.”

 

“Hell, when you said you could warm me up I figured we’d be getting naked, I didn’t think…I mean, _wow_.” Roman paused, swallowing hard as he stared at the flames gently licking across their skin. “Kinda’…wish I hadn’t said that part about getting naked. Awkward.”

 

“Yeah, clothes kind of give out when I do this. Another reason why I don’t do it too often.” They shrugged. “Although if you really wanted me to warm you up like that, all you had to do was ask.”

 

“Seriously? I mean, I’ve kinda’ wanted to ask for a while but I didn’t want to be…I mean, I didn’t want to saddle you with me, you know?” Roman explained, feeling a flush on his face that had nothing to do with the roaring heat his friend ( _mate?_ ) was putting out.

 

They smiled up at him, a little soot smudged on their nose. “Yeah. Let me finish thawing you out and then we’ll see just how warm we can get, Big Dog.”


	32. Thirty-Two: Bo Dallas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got their first real pet starring Bo Dallas.

Bo had decided that he wanted a pet for his first apartment. And the sooner the better, really. The space was too much for him all by himself.

 

The local shelter was a terrible place for someone like him to browse, though. He wanted to adopt everyone there! All the sad-faced puppies, all the mewling kittens ( _so_ many kittens, it was spring after all), even a few ragged hamsters and birds had managed to find their way into the mix. It was so disheartening to think about choosing just _one_ pet from there.

 

Bo wiped at his eyes as he drove back to his empty apartment. He knew it was _silly_ to cry over stuff like this, but sometimes he couldn’t really help it. He decided as he drifted off to sleep that night that he…well, he just wouldn’t choose, that was all!

 

The shelter workers seemed a little confused when he showed up the next morning before they opened, dressed to impress and carrying a briefcase with him. “I’d like to apply for the job of Shelter Godparent. Here’s my credentials, of course, and a copy of all my contact information. I’m ready for the extensive screening process but I’m also totally confident that I will exceed all your expectations!”

 

Needless to say, his “ _preexisting skill set_ ” was “ _more than adequate_ ” for the position (that he _definitely_ hadn’t made up) and Bo was soon spending most of his free time with bottle-fed kittens in the pockets of his scrubs and an old, crotchety canary that enjoyed digging its tiny talons into his shoulder to get his attention while he answered phones.

 

So in a way he hadn’t gotten a pet, but in a way he’d gotten more pets than he could have imagined.


	33. Thirty-Three: Roman Reigns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took care of the person they like after a tough night starring Roman Reigns.

“I know it was hard.” Roman eased closer to them on the couch, tugged their limp body until they were in a more comfortable position. “But it was only your first day. I promise it gets easier.”

 

“ _You_ don’t get to talk to me, not after the _horrible_ things you put me through tonight.” They sighed dramatically.

 

“Look, the first day is always hard on everyone! You made me proud, though, because you didn’t quit. I promise it gets easier.”

 

“Oh _big_ words from the guy who looks like he was carved by fucking Michelangelo.” They flung a hand out and slapped Roman in the middle of his chest, making him snicker. “You could have _killed_ me, Reigns. I could have _died_.”

 

“Lucky for me, you’re still intact. Now, since I’m apparently the only one able to move, I’m getting a beer and some of _your_ leftover pizza. Too bad you can’t move, otherwise you might be able to have some.” Roman taunted, laughing when he got up from the couch and they pitched their whole body after him, grabbing his legs.

 

“I will _murder_ you, do you have any idea how many calories I probably burned tonight?! I…I _need_ that food, I’ll waste away to nothing!” They alternated between pleading and demanding while Roman gently scooped them up and re-situated them back on the couch.

 

“Shh, only teasing. You are going to sit here and pick something for us to watch, while I will bring us food and anything else your little heart desires for being such a badass today. I’m just glad you finally took me up on the whole ‘gym’ thing. Was getting kind of weird, going there by myself.” He smiled down at them and they went red, sputtering indignantly when he rumpled their hair on his way to the kitchen. “Pick something good!”


	34. Thirty-Four: Jeff Hardy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had the person they like put them in a submission hold/take them to the ground starring Jeff Hardy.

Jeff didn’t expect his simple offer to be met with such uh. _Raucous_ enthusiasm. Growing up with an older brother built more solid than him had put him through his fair share of surprise tackles so he could sympathize with their plight in needing a way to quickly and effectively subdue someone.

 

This, however, was not _quite_ what he’d had in mind. They’d dragged him into a half-kneeling position, wrapped around his front like a baby goddamn sloth and wiggling, fucking _wiggling_ in a way that was _really_ going to cause him some problems if they didn’t calm the hell down. Their fingers dug into his shirt, twisting the fabric this way and that.

 

“The _hell’re_ you doin’?” Jeff grunted, gripping the backs of their thighs to keep them still. “ _Stop_ with the fuckin’ squirmin’, Jesus, that _ain’t_ how you lock in the Coquina at all.” He hauled the both of them upright and then almost lost his footing when they shifted against him, taking a knee again. “Easy, what did I _just_ say? Damn.”

 

“I like you better when you’re on your knees, though.” They grinned up at him and his mouth went dry. He stammered something, he wasn’t sure what, and then they somehow, _somehow_ cinched themselves in from the _front_ , successfully knocking his other leg out from underneath him and dropping him on top of them.

 

“Didn’t think _that_ one through, now didja’, genius?” Jeff snorted after hearing their wheezing gasp for breath. He didn’t feel so cocky a second later when the pressure of their locked fists on his back made his pelvis jerk down into the apex of their hips. “ _Fuck_.” He hissed, grabbing at their arms and finally popping their grip on him. He twined his fingers through theirs and pinned their hands to the mat beside their head. “Y'know, if you wanted me like this I coulda’ saved your ass a _lot_ of trouble.”


	35. Thirty-Five: Jeff Hardy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Accidentally blurted out their feelings starring Jeff Hardy.

Jeff hadn’t meant to say it. He was perfectly content (or so he fucking _thought_ ) with being friends with them. It didn’t _need_ to go any further than that, for fuck’s sake! And yet here he stood, the fucking _Charismatic_ motherfucker that he was, totally tongue-tied because what _had_ come out of his mouth and what _should have_ were two very different things.

 

They stared at him, looking absolutely bewildered. God, he felt like an idiot.

 

“So that…was a mistake.” He began slowly. “I-I apologize for that. Kinda’ puts the pressure on you and I ain’t tryin’ to do that at all. If we can forget that I said that, it’d be super cool.”

 

“Jeff, I-”

 

“No, please. I’m serious. That was a mental fuck up and I ain’t tryin’ to…I’m not like that, alright? You know I ain’t like that, I just say dumb stuff sometimes. Please don’t hate me?” Jeff loathed that he was fucking _pleading_ , like he’d been caught out after dark.

 

“Jeff I’m not going to _hate_ you.” They took a deep breath and Jeff braced himself for the impact. “Can I tell you something?”

 

“Well yeah, you can tell me anythin’.” _Like now, when you tell me to fuck off_.

 

“I kind of…feel the same way. About you. I…I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t know how you felt.” They shifted back and forth nervously and Jeff grabbed their shoulders. They looked up at him, startled.

 

He pressed their foreheads together. “I’ve…wanted to tell you for a _real_ long time now. Can I make it up to you?”


	36. Thirty-Six: Roman Reigns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had the person they like put them in a submission hold/take them to the ground starring Roman Reigns.

Their arm was wound tight around his neck, bending him over backwards and slowly, steadily applying pressure to his windpipe. Roman wasn’t sure if he should be scared or impressed. The tension in his torso had reached a point that was _almost_ pain, so he figured maybe ending this exercise would be in his best interest.

 

He stretched out an arm to grab the ropes and they _moved,_ dragging him back from the edge of the practice area. For some reason they released his other arm, sliding their fingers down his chest to the hem of his t-shirt. Roman barely had the chance to be confused before they were jerking it up over his head, effectively blinding him. Well, he _had_ told them to do their best at incapacitating him.

 

He froze when he felt their fingers on the bare skin of his torso, walking slowly down to the curve of his hip and traipsing across the broad expanse. When their fingertips dipped beneath the elastic of his waistband was when Roman started panicking, bucking his whole body and nearly flipping them over his shoulder.

 

“What are you trying to do?” He gasped finally after pulling their arm away from his neck.

 

“Nothing yet, it’s more like _who_ I’m trying to do.” They winked, patting his stomach right over the waistband of his sweats before releasing him.


	37. Thirty-Seven: Cesaro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took care of the person they like after a tough night and accidentally blurted out their feelings starring Cesaro.

“You are bleeding, _mon petit oiseau_. What has happened?” Antonio asked worriedly, fingers grazing the bruising cut on their cheek and making them wince.

 

“Ah, I took a chair funny, you know how it is.” They tried to brush it off, tried to push past him in the hallway on the way to their room.

 

But he caught their arm, effectively stopping them. “Have you seen the trainers at all? This is not a new problem. Is there no one to take care of you?” He chided them, an undercurrent of worry making his words trip out a little more tense than he intended. The inflections for English, compared to French or even _Italian_ , were always so confusing.

 

They looked down at his hand on their arm and then looked back up at him, eyes slightly widened like they’d been caught in a lie. “Look, Antonio, I just-”

 

“ _Non_ , you need to see a trainer. Even if it is nothing, it’s better that you do. What if you have a concussion? Some sort of brain problem? I know you, you are not sloppy.” Cesaro paused. They weren’t supposed to know he paid attention to their training sessions! “I-I mean, since you…fell. I think. You fell, right?” He fumbled, quickly turning and ushering them down the hallway to his own room.

 

“I don’t want to be a bother, it’s so late. I promise I’ll check in with a trainer in the morning, I know you’re right.” They admitted, scuffing a foot against the cheap hotel carpet. “I just didn’t want to know if there _was_ something wrong, I guess. It’s kind of scary, y'know?”

 

“Hey, I understand. With my shoulder.” Cesaro puffed out a breath as he opened the door to his room, making a see-sawing motion with his hand. “ _Very_ scary. But it is worse not to know. You would feel bad if you hurt someone accidentally, yes?”

 

“ _God_ yeah, why do you think I took that shot to my head instead of my chest? I was going to fucking fall on top of them.” They said worriedly.

 

“I will go with you tomorrow, if it would make you feel more comfortable?” Cesaro offered, filling a washcloth with ice from the room’s ice bucket. “Here, for your cheek. Sit down.”

 

“Hey…thanks for pestering me.” They smiled ruefully up at him, obediently keeping the ice on their bruised cheek. Cesaro cleared his throat after a minute, twitching his bad shoulder out of nervous habit to break eye contact. They noticed (of _course_ they noticed, he wasn’t exactly _subtle_ ), reaching out to touch his hand. “Are you alright, Toni?”

 

“It is nothing, old aches.” He attempted a smile, hating how concerned they looked. “You need to take care of yourself. We cannot afford to lose you, my friend.”

 

They went silent for a minute and he thought about what he’d said, a little worried that maybe something had come out wrong. “That’s probably the nicest thing anyone has told me since I came to the main roster.”

 

“ _Merde_ , I refuse to believe I am the only person to value your talents!” Cesaro was aghast.

 

They chuckled. “Yeah, it’s okay. I’m not really anything new, or special and impressive like you, so I could see where I’d fall through the cracks around here.” They gestured up and down his body. “Swiss Superman! Maybe I could be your sidekick, huh? As long as I don’t have any issues with my head, of course.”

 

“Sidekick, _never_. Partner!” Antonio insisted. “I would greatly enjoy the chance to work closer with you, you are very skilled.”

 

“Wow, really?”

 

“Yes, of course! I…I mean, I may have seen one or two of your matches. You have wonderful footwork, your ability is only matched by your tenacity. A lesser person would lay on the mat and give up, but you, you _fly_.” Cesaro flushed as he realized he was essentially rambling. “Ah, forgive me. I forget sometimes I should not talk as much.”

 

“No no, please! I’m getting the chance to hear you _gush_. It’s an honor!” Antonio was almost _positive_ they were teasing and he smiled uncertainly, falling silent. They fiddled with their ice for a second and then looked up again. “Hey, can I ask you something?” They asked quietly.

 

“ _Ovviamente_ , whatever you want.”

 

“Do you…actually believe all that stuff that you said? Or are you just trying to cheer me up?”

 

“Are you saying I would lie to make you feel better?” He couldn’t help but feel a bit insulted; couldn’t they _tell_ he was being serious? Maybe he’d mixed up a word somewhere. “I am…what’s the term, cancerous? No, _serious_ as cancer.” They snorted, still obviously disbelieving him. “Look, we are friends, yes? I cannot _lie_ to someone as important to me as you.” He said sincerely, carefully cupping their face. “Why do you not believe me, _mon petit oiseau_?”

 

“It’s not that I don’t believe you, Toni, I just…why, I guess? Why do you think so highly of me?”

 

“Because I…” Cesaro struggled with his words for a minute, finally grunting in annoyance and then mumbling the first thing that came to mind. “ _Je t’ai dans la peau_.”

 

“Toni, you know I don’t-”

 

“You are all I think about, my friend. I cannot lie to you.” He confessed, terrified and exhilarated all at once. “I worry for you. I find myself thinking of you even when I should not be, when I do not mean to. I…I am sorry, to be this way.”

 

“You…really?” They asked, and wonder of all wonders they sounded _excited_. Could it be that maybe his affection was not one-sided? Hardly daring to hope, Cesaro nodded slowly. They bolted to their feet, throwing their arms around his neck and dropping the makeshift ice pack on the floor. “You could have _said_ something, you doofus!” They scolded, their bright smile contradicting the annoyance in their words.

 

Cesaro couldn’t help his own smile, couldn’t help pressing his forehead to theirs and grinning like a madman. “I just did, _mon petit oiseau_.”

* * *

Translation Note: _  
_

_Mon petit oiseau_ : my little bird

_Merde_ : Shit/crap

_Ovviamente_ : Obviously

_Je t’ai dans la peau_ : I have you in my skin (a term used to indicate that a person holds your heart/‘under my skin’)


	38. Thirty-Eight: Sami Callihan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got into a fight/physical altercation and accidentally blurted out their feelings starring Sami Callihan.

“I dunno’ how many times I have to fuckin’ tell your sorry ass to leave them alone.” Callihan spat, standing over the asshole ( _The_ asshole, a very specific one) with his fists clenched. “Maybe _this_ Goddamn time, you’ll fuckin’ _listen_.” He was _tired_. He was _hungry_ and so fucking tired and now, even more bruised up than he had been before. His body protested the aggression of his motions but he couldn’t seem to help himself. When he’d stumbled out of the bar, well on his way to buzzed, he hadn’t really _expected_ to get into a spat.

 

He’d never fought for anyone’s honor before. It felt weird. Sami wasn’t sure if he liked it yet. But he’d seen this fuck time and again around his friend, _his_ friend and his friend was a total pushover, too nice for the likes of this _asshole_ and _definitely_ too nice for the likes of Callihan. Shit, he was still confused over the fact that they were _friends_ to begin with, never mind the fact that they seemed to supply him with ninety-nine percent of his ‘good-dream’ fodder. He hadn’t done anything in person, though. Why would he?

 

Sami knew he was a prick.

 

“Hey, y'alrigh’?” He asked them roughly once The Asshole had scrambled to the safety of a nearby convenience store. Honestly it was a little funny that they’d followed him while he pursued the guy, trailing silently behind him like a lost puppy. “Heyo, bud, you-” He stopped when he tipped their chin up and saw the tears on their face. They looked so fucking pitiful, he couldn’t help but pull them into his chest and wrap his arms around them. “Easy, y’ okay. Sami’s gotcha’.”

 

They kept sniffling and _mumbling_ shit he could hardly hear into his shirt, something about _useless_ , something about _thank you_.

 

“Shuddup, huh? Chatty fuckin’ Cathy.” He finally grunted, putting a finger over their lips. “M’ gonna’ tell y’ a secret. Can’t say anythin’ t’ anyone, okay?” They nodded up at him and he could feel their body tense, so he let them go and slung an arm over their shoulder instead. Less contact, but enough that his gently-spinning brain was satisfied. “Ol’ Callihan has a fuckin’ kay _-rushhhh_.” He drew the word out, grinning and then wincing when his split lip pulled. “Big ol’ crush, like little kid shit, y'know? An’ y'know who I’m crushin’ _onnn?_ ”

 

They shook their head. The look of curiosity on their face made him snicker. Yeah, he was _way_ too drunk for this shit. _Oh well_. At least they weren’t crying anymore, that was like a win. Even if his whole body going “ _ow_ ” louder than usual was the price, it was worth it.

 

“You _sure_ y’ don’t know?” He teased, ruffling their hair and relaxing when they grumbled in annoyance, _that_ was more like it. He then beeped their nose, making a little _hernk_ noise, and almost got his finger taken off in the process. “'Ey, no teeth! Alright, I’ll tell ya’. But it’s a secret. So don’t say a word, okay?” He couldn’t understand why a real quiet part of him was yelling _wait no stop idiot!_ , this was obviously a great idea. “It’s _you_ , bud!” He kissed their forehead, laughing drunkenly at how wide their eyes had gotten. “C'mon, m’ gonna’ be nursin’ my wounds f’ a while. I know y’ like patchin’ my ass up, wanna’ gimme’ a hand?”


	39. Thirty-Nine: Jon Moxley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had the person they like put them in a submission hold/take them to the ground starring Jon Moxley.

He hadn’t known that his arm could bend _quite_ that far. They were currently straddling his shoulder and bicep, pulling his wrist up towards their body in a wrenching motion that threatened to make him scream. Jon struggled frantically, trying to get his other arm beneath him to shove them off or roll himself over onto his back. Why, _why_ had he poked this fucking bear?

 

They were liable to take his fucking arm clean off whether he tapped out or not. They weren’t exactly _known_ for their mercy, it was one of the things he found attractive about them if he was being honest. The cold, calculating mind and the knowledge of hold after hold, their ability to take a guy apart by pulling and twisting him _just_ right.

 

“ _Bet ya’ can’t make me beg for mercy._ ” He’d smirked at them, all confidence and cocky bullshit, he didn’t really know _why_ he’d decided that today was the day he felt like dying.

 

Pain lanced hot through his shoulder blade, tendons and tissue well on their way to sprained. Mox knew he could at least _try_ to give up. “Shit, _shit_ , easy, I have t’ be okay for tonight. I’m tappin’.” He said desperately, trying to ignore the way they seemed to squirm _harder_ on his shoulder, practically fucking _humping_ his arm. “Hey, didja’ hear me? I _said_ I-”

 

“ _I’m_ not finished yet.”

 

Jon froze, a flush spreading across his face. That was _not_ their usual tone, that was a fucking _purr_. And they were _definitely_ rocking their hips on his bicep. He licked his lips, unable to help the grin that followed immediately after the flush. “Shit, all ya’ had t’ do was ask, I’ll stay put as _long_ as you need.”


	40. Forty: Jon Moxley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got their first real pet, did something creative after years of not doing it, went to a fancy restaurant and accidentally blurted out their feelings starring Kitten!Mox.

“Kitten, please don’t be angry with me, okay?”

 

Jon wasn’t really the best when it came to this stuff. He always resonated a little too hard with…small, abandoned, motherless things. It wasn’t like he didn’t know _why_ , he’d just rather not think about it.

 

It was a pup, a tiny, scrawny pup with lop ears, some indiscernible shade of brown-probably under layers of dirt. It had caught his attention with pitiful whimpering; he’d found the dead mother and the remains of the litter close by. It was friendly enough, struggling into his lap on wobbly legs and curling up there to shiver and whine. Mox knew he was fucked from the get-go. He and Kitten hadn’t really _talked_ about getting a pet, though. Shit, shit. Maybe if she didn’t want to have it he could keep it at Callihan’s.

 

He felt a lump in his throat. “I jus’…I found it outside of CZ, the mom is dead. Kitten, I know this is your apartmen’ an’ I don’t wanna’–I mean we ain’t gotta’ _keep_ it or nothin’, maybe let me get it healthy. I couldn’t jus’ leave him there, y'know? S’ a street dog like me, I couldn’t-”

 

Kitten halted his nervous rambling by scolding him for not going straight to the vet with the mutt, “Look at how small he is, Jon, and how thin! Do you know how long the mother was dead for? Shit, never mind. Hang on, let me grab my jacket and we’ll go now.” She patted his shoulder on the way by. “Hey, don’t get all weepy on me now, Mox. He’ll be okay.”

 

Combine didn’t grow much bigger, stunted from his rough introduction to the world. But what he lacked in size, he made up for in volume and affection. There must have been Beagle somewhere in his makeup. The guys at Combat Zone made him their official unofficial mascot, going so far as to give him his own chair in the timekeeper’s booth. He loved howling along with the crowd, barking as loud as he could when Callihan and his human dad were in the ring. And he was always on his Best Behavior.

 

…

 

Mox had never really been one for drawing or writing, any of that fancy stuff. He used to sing like a motherfucker, before things got bad. “ _No one dared to ask his business, no one dared to make a slip_.”

 

He was pretty sure the only singing he was suited for now would be that screaming, growling shit that the kids half his age were listening to. Good stuff to get you worked up, but not good for much else. “ _The stranger there among them had a big iron on his hip, big iron on his hip_.”

 

He would still sort of…half-sing under his breath when he had to pick up the apartment, clean the kitchen, that kind of thing. Usually Mox didn’t really notice he was doing it, too occupied with his work. “ _It was early in the mornin’ when he rode into the town, he came ridin’ from the southside slowly lookin’ all around._ ”

 

He wasn’t particularly _good_ at singing, near as he could figure. Not that it mattered to him. One day though, he really had to belt _something_ , anything, it had been a shitty week and a shitty night and he was in the shower and she wasn’t home from work yet, so fuck it, fuck it. “ _In this town there lived an outlaw by the name of Texas Red, many men had tried to take him and that many men were dead._ ” Jon was practically _yelling_ the words, scrubbing the bloody debris out of his hair and then laughing when Combine started to howl from his spot beside the tub. “Ah I ain’t _that_ bad, y’ little fuck. Everyone’s a critic, even th’ fuckin’ mutt.” He reached a hand out to shove the shower curtain aside and rumple the fur of the dog, then froze.

 

Kitten stood there with her arms folded over her chest, looking bemused. “ _Really_ , Jon?”

 

…

 

This wasn’t something he should be sweating. They’d gone out loads of times, stayed in even more times. This was totally something he could handle. Definitely. Not freaking out right now, he had this under control.

 

“Jon, I need my fingers.” She said quietly, and he realized that he’d had her hand in a death grip.

 

“Shi _-Shoot,_ sorry Kitten.” He apologized, quickly releasing her hand. At least he remembered to pull her chair out, right?

 

Jon smiled nervously at her from across the table and picked up his menu. She had already opened hers, and to his dismay she looked a little concerned. She was _frowning_. “Jon, um-”

 

He couldn’t help but feel insulted. “Hey, I said anythin’ you want, remember? Please. You do so much for me, Kitten, I just wanted t’ return the favor. Kinda’. I mean, you deserve nice stuff like this more often.” He took one of her hands. “Just for one night, please?”

 

“Jon that’s…really sweet and this is honestly the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. I promise I’m not trying to be ungrateful or anything, I just,” She paused as a waiter skittered by, looking perturbed. “Jon, I can’t read Italian.” She raised an eyebrow. “Can you?”

 

Jon was sure his facial expression was priceless. She started giggling loud enough to make a few other people look up as he whipped open his own menu and was confronted with a solid wall of words that looked _almost_ familiar but there were no _pictures_ , what the _fuck_ was he supposed to do to salvage this?!

 

Kitten ended up flagging down a waiter and asking for their recommendation. Her and Jon shared an overwhelmed laugh after the _extremely_ chatty young man had headed off to put in their order. “Next time we’ll just get Chinese from that place you like. Sorry I took us off the fuckin’ map for dinner.” He apologized later in the night.

 

“You’re sweet. And ridiculous. But mostly sweet.” She half-stood to kiss him over the table, smiling against his lips.

 

…

 

This _hurt_ , like the sliding of broken bones in his fingers, calcification turning him stiff far too early in his years. He ached in the mornings when she wasn’t there, slept like shit the nights she worked late. He wasn’t sure what the hell to make of it. Was _this_ what love felt like? All the books and movies talked a great fucking game if it was, who the fuck would _want_ to feel this way?

 

He didn’t really mean to let it get to him. He could handle getting his head busted open on concrete, could handle the taste of blood in his mouth and the dark patches where there was just _nothing_ and he’d come back up screaming. This was a _different_ hurt, yeah, but it was still a hurt and if there was anything he could do it was take punishment, so why the _fuck_ did he have to say anything?

 

“M’ hurtin’, Kitten.”

 

The next thing Mox knew her arms were wrapped around him, a hand gently stroking the back of his head as she fucking _cradled_ him like a child and shit, _shit_ , this was where he lost out like a little bitch and mumbled _I love you_ into her shirt, almost sobbing in relief when she asked him to repeat himself because _thank fuck_ that meant she hadn’t heard it, she didn’t need to hear it, it was better this way if she didn’t know.

 

He was so good at taking punishment. It would be a shame to end his _fucking_ streak now.


	41. Forty-One: Baron Corbin and Jeff Hardy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took care of the person they like after a tough night, college!AU starring Baron Corbin and Jeff Hardy.

“Set ‘em down over there, Jesus H Christ.” Jeff grimaced sympathetically. “The hell did you even find them?”

 

“In the fucking _bushes_ , where else? Looked over the whole fucking campus for their ass and I come back to find them gripping the fucking azaleas.” Corbin replied testily, brushing the matted hair back from their friend’s forehead after he laid them out on Jeff’s couch. “I’m good for that, y'know, finding the _root_ of the problem in the roots of fucking shrubs. Shit, Jeff, the _fuck_ are we gonna’ do?”

 

“Well uh, non-alcoholic liquids an’ Tylenol is usually a good start.” Jeff shrugged. “They’re not pukin’ or anythin’, still breathin’, right? Don’t sweat it. Everyone deals with finals in their own…weird, bush-huggin’ way.”

 

“ _Look_ , there was a guy from that other fraternity over them, Jeff.” Baron said softly after a minute of shifting his weight back and forth. “The one we’ve been havin’ trouble with. He ran off when I showed up. They don’t look like… _rumpled_ or anything but I’m a little…man, I wouldn’t mind cracking a skull if it came to it, okay?”

 

“Easy big guy, one thing at a time. We’re good friends, we gotta’ take care of _our_ good friend.” Jeff put a steadying hand on Baron’s forearm. “Let’s get them cleaned up, woken up, try an’ get some answers. Y’ don’t think he slipped ‘em anythin’, do you?”

 

“I don’t fucking _know_ , Jeff.” Baron snapped. “That’s what I’m fucking _worried_ about.”

 

“Hey if we call medics, we call fuckin’ medics. Ain’t no biggie, nothin’ here that they ain’t seen before.” Jeff plopped himself down on the floor beside the couch. “Yo, you in there buddy? Seein’ some twitchin’.” He said loudly, “Comin’ back around to us? You can’t quit now, you’re so close t’ graduatin’!”

 

Corbin shook his head at Jeff, heading to the mini-fridge to pour a glass of Sunny Delight (sniffing the jug beforehand to make sure it wasn’t the one with the screwdriver mix they’d concocted the other morning). With the cup (that was definitely _not_ an old peanut butter jar) and the well-used bottle of Tylenol in hand he returned to the battered couch, sighing in relief when he saw that their friend’s eyes were fluttering open.

 

“You might be right, Corbs. They’re havin’ a _hell_ of a time stickin’ with me.” Jeff muttered. “Buddy, hey, we’re gonna’ sit you up, gotta’ try an’ get you taken care of.” They obediently held out their arms, probably overused to having their two strong friends re-maneuver them when they got a _little_ too shitty. Baron looked at Jeff and Jeff bit his lip. “Buddy, somethin’ happen to you tonight? Drink somethin’ you shouldn’t have?”

 

Their head lolled back and Corbin caught it gently, steadying them so they could actually _look_ at he and Jeff. “ _Hey_ , you need to let us know what’s up.” He said sternly. “Do we need to call an ambulance?” Jeff was always the coddler, while Baron was very much the man who would tell his friends to cut the shit. “If you don’t start talking, we’re calling the medics.” They shook their head sluggishly, like it weighed a hundred pounds. Tears began trickling down their cheeks. Baron swore, brushing them away with his thumb.

 

Jeff made a ’ _tsk_ 'ing noise. “Bud…” He sighed, fidgeting with his hair. “You know you can tell us anythin’, it’s okay. Judgment-free zone.” They shook their head again and Jeff frowned, climbing up on the couch beside them. “Shh, you’re okay. We’ll get this figured out. Here, Baron has some juice for you. Somethin’ for your head. Promise there’s nothin’ sketchy in it.”

 

“Thank you.” They croaked, making both men pause. “M'sorry.”

 

“Shut up and drink this.” Baron ordered, giving Jeff a _Look_ while their friend gulped the juice thirstily and swallowed their Tylenol. “Good? Good. Alright, I need you to behave for Jeff while I’m gone, okay?” He offered a rare smile and Jeff’s brow furrowed in confusion.

 

“Corbin it’s like, goddamn two in the _mornin’_ , where…” Jeff trailed off, his lips forming an 'o’.

 

Baron grunted wordlessly and closed the door behind him as gently as he could when he left.


	42. Forty-Two: Bayley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Discovered their diary/journal from when they were younger starring Bayley.

It was hard, some days. Being out on the road almost constantly, sleeping in a different bed every night. There were so many good times though! The roar of the crowd, the feeling of the belt around her waist, _Wrestlemania_.

 

The package waiting for her at the Performance Center wasn’t anything new, but the address on it made her heart skip a beat. Bayley hugged it to her chest and rushed to the seclusion of the locker room. It was rare that anyone else came in as early as she did most days, so the silence was broken only by her tearing apart the bubble envelope.

 

A note and a small, fringe-bearing book tumbled out into her lap. She instantly recognized the book, laughing to herself.

 

_My Bayley, I found this in my dresser the other day while I was looking for the fancy socks you sent me. I thought you might want it back. Don’t worry, I paid attention to the warning_.

 

_The warning?_ Bayley opened the notebook and started laughing anew as she saw the first page.

 

_Keep out Mom and Dad, this is privite stuff!_ was scrawled in shaky, _incredibly_ loopy cursive. Bayley’s giggles died off as she started to read. All the little things that used to concern her came flooding back. Not wanting to admit she was scared of the dark, the first time she’d fought with her best friend. Even all of her old play-by-plays for the Big Time shows she’d seen were there, full of excited _and then he did this kick, it was awesome, I want to kick someone like that!_

 

_Mom and Dad said I should get this book so I could have someplace to put my feelings. I guess I have a lot of them. Mom made it macho man fringies just like she made for my jacket for school. Someday I’m going to be super strong and cool and I’ll still wear the fringies because I love them they’re my favorites. More fringies!_

 

“Whatcha’ reading there, kiddo?” Charlotte asked curiously, making Bayley jump. She hadn’t even heard the other woman come in.

 

“Oh, it’s nothing. Just…memories, y'know.” Bayley smiled down at the notebook in her lap. “Kid stuff.”

 

“Whatever you say, kiddo. C'mon, we’ve got work to do.” Charlotte rumpled her hair out of its side ponytail, the gesture more fond than obnoxious.


	43. Forty-Three: Jeff Hardy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Received a gift from the person they like starring Jeff Hardy.

When the knock on his door came, Jeff was more than confused. He hadn’t been expecting anyone, shit, he’d practically been looking _forward_ to the fact that he wasn’t expecting anyone. A rare day off that he was spending making repairs on his somewhat-wrecked-from-swatting-drones acoustic guitar and he was being _interrupted?_

 

He yanked open his front door, fully intending on giving whoever was on the other side of it a piece of his mind.

 

“Jeff, it just arrived!” His friend _exploded_ , ever the enthusiastic light in his life. “It came and I had to give it to you, I _had_ to! I know you had today off so I fucking ran and here I am and here it is and I-”

 

“Is that what I think it is?” Jeff asked, his eyes gone wide.

 

They huffed out a breath, seeming indignant. “Of _course_ it is! _I’m_ not the scrub around here, Hardy Two. I told you I would deliver.” The guitar case in their hands called out to him and yet he could hardly wrap his mind around the fact that it was for _him_.

 

“Hell, I said it _months_ ago, I just… _damn_.” Jeff was touched, above everything _else_ he felt. “You’re amazin’.”

 

“Yeah, I know.” They replied smugly, pressing the case into his waiting hands. “C'mon, I wanna’ see what it looks like! Put your money where your hands are, Jeff, _move_ it!” They ushered him to his own living room.

 

“What should I even…shit, I’m just tryin’ to adjust here, _wow_ , I toldja’ that paintin’ was fuckin’ gratis, you didn’t have to…” He could barely get himself together, barely hear himself _talk_ over the chorus in his brain of _they remembered they remembered_.

 

“And I told _you_ that I would repay you with that sexy tunemaker you’ve been eyeing and talking yourself out of buying for over a year. So don’t start with me!” They scolded. “Now please, pleasepleaseplease hurry up and open it, I want to see it in person!”

 

Jeff set the case down on the coffee table and began popping the latches one by one. His friend was practically _vibrating_ at his elbow when he finally opened the case and cradled the instrument for the first time. He felt like he knew it already from pining after it for so long, felt like the curves and dips were familiar territory. He was speechless, just running his fingers over the smooth wood. It was _real_ and it was _his_.

 

“Hey, are you okay?” They seemed to misinterpret his awestruck facial expression as one of distress, starting to twist their fingers nervously. “Is…is it not the right one? Did I fuck up? Shit, I’m sorry, I–”

 

Jeff dropped the guitar on the couch and grabbed his friend in a fierce hug, making them squeak in surprise. “It’s _perfect_. Thank you so damn much. I love…i-it, I love it, _shit_ I love it, thank you.” He hoped they hadn’t noticed his almost-slip as they laughed and hugged him back.


	44. Forty-Four: Jeff Hardy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Found out that somebody else discovered their diary/journal from when they were younger starring Jeff Hardy.

Walking into his old room was always a bit of a trip. So many times he’d snuck out the window, so many times he’d laid in his bed sore from training or out of his mind with one thing or another. It tended to be a bittersweet time and Jeff didn’t really care to linger all that much.

 

He froze when he realized what his friend had in their hands while they sat on his old bed. “Hey!” He protested, “The hell did you even _find_ that, I thought I-”

 

“Drawer of the dresser. I was looking for your phone charger.” They said, not bothering to even look up at him.

 

“D'ya mind? I mean, that shit’s kinda’…it’s private, y'know.” Jeff was pretty sure he’d never felt more awkward in his life.

 

They waved a hand at him, blowing a raspberry. “Listen, you love the fact that I’m nosy. You’ve found use for it time after time, it was overdue that I learned some of your deep dark secrets.”

 

“Shit, I’ll _tell_ you them, you ain’t gotta’…that’s shit from when I was a teenager, for fuck’s sake, I-”

 

“Ohoho, what do we have _here?_ ” They asked, collecting the loose pieces of paper that had fallen out into their lap. Jeff slapped himself on the forehead, groaning loudly. “Is this _poetry_ , perhaps?” They teased, grinning. “ _Love_ poetry, scrawled on the back of math homework that you never turned in? How romantic.”

 

“Hey, c'mon, knock it off already.” Jeff reached for the book and they bolted to their feet on his bed, holding it up in the air.

 

“No way! I’m finally getting the dirt on the _illustrious_ Jeff Hardy!” They waved the journal just out of range, shaking free another piece of folded-up paper. It was purple. Jeff’s eyes widened and he fucking _lunged_ , grabbing frantically at the old but _familiar_ paper. Their head barely missed slamming into the wall as he sent them both crashing over the side of the bed in a tangle of arms and legs.  

 

“I said _knock it off_.” Jeff snarled (after the heart-stopping moment of _oh fuck did I hurt them_ ), finally snatching the journal back. “You want to know? I will _tell_ you. I used to write. I’d write about fuckin’ everything, whatever fuckin’ struck me, a lot of bad, angry shit that would twist me the fuck up inside because I was young an’ all I would do is internalize shit til’ I broke.” He clutched the journal to his chest, feeling weirdly vulnerable as they stared up at him all wide-eyed. “I’d write about Matt, I’d write about gettin’ fucked up, I would write about the negative _bullshit_ that always seemed to come down on me, I’d write about gettin’ tossed around, an’-”

 

“Jeff, hey, Jeff.” Their hands carefully cupped his face, halting his wild ramble. “I’m sorry, I was only teasing. I didn’t know it was that important to you. You know a lot of times I take a joke too far. I didn’t actually read any of it, I promise. I was only looking at the tops of the pages where you didn’t write anything.”

 

“Well, fuck. You asshole.” Jeff said lamely after a second or two of silence. “Actin’ like you’re readin’ my horrendous, teenage angsty secrets. Give me a fuckin’ heart attack.”

 

The particular piece of paper he’d grabbed, the purple one, proceeded to burn a hole in his pocket for the rest of the night. The one that started with _I don’t know how to tell you this, so I guess I never will…_


	45. Forty-Five: Seth Rollins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Manifested superpowers starring Suplex City!Rollins.

He’d always known he was different. Set apart from the others, faster, smarter, stronger. There was good, there was better and _best_ was Seth Rollins, always on top, always the greatest. So when he started being able to _do_ things he hadn’t been able to do before, he figured it was just part of the process. He was the founder of the Shield! That ought to come with at least one freakishly useful perk built into his DNA.

 

Soon he was launching himself across the rooftops at almost _supersonic_ speeds, the indents from his boots a common sight after his landings on tile and ledges. Seth Rollins could run circles around the whole city without so much as breathing hard. The Beast’s thundering footsteps behind him, the swiftest Acolytes and the smartest members of the Family, even the Demon Balor himself were no match for his speed and smarts. And if he added a little flip or flourish here and there, well, that was _more_ than his right, wasn’t it? He was the Best, after all. He could outrun anyone, anything.

 

Except what he’d done.


	46. Forty-Six: Jeff Hardy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Accidentally left a candle burning unattended starring Jeff Hardy.

He could be a little absentminded sometimes.

 

Alright, maybe more than sometimes. Maybe… _consistently_. The point was, Jeff hadn’t left the fucking thing burning on purpose, _damn it_ , he’d lit the pine-scented candle for a little comfort while he painted and then he _started_ painting and just…

 

He’d lost track of time. The artist’s curse, the one that ends with finished product and exhaustion, aching fingers from the tiny-detailed strokes of the brush and so many hours eaten up by the creative process…

 

…The smell of _acrid_ , wax-covered windowsill smoldering dragging him out of his satisfied stupor. “ _Oh_ , shit, _shit!_ ” Jeff panicked, yanking his shirt off over his head and using the back of it to smother the embers, dumping the remains of his rinse water on the area to be extra safe. _Christ_ , that could have ended poorly. He had fallen asleep more than once on the floor of his studio, God forbid that he’d done that with a fucking _candle_ puttering away.

 

He repeated the mistake not two weeks later.

 

Reby ended up getting him a wax warmer with a timer on it.


	47. Forty-Seven: Roman Reigns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got their first real pet, had the person they like put them in a submission hold/take them to the ground and found out they enjoy something (but only when the person they like enjoys it as well) starring Roman Reigns and Reader.

Roman stared down at the cat. Eilonwy glared back up at him, ears flat. “Heya’…uh, little…little. Lonny-kitty.” He tried, crouching down to try and get on its level and it hissed, lashing out at his knee and getting its claws snagged on his basketball shorts. You sighed, rolling your eyes and moving to get the flailing animal away from your large boyfriend. “Sorry babe, I dunno’ why she doesn’t like me.” Roman sounded almost sad about that, reaching to pet the cat in your arms and getting a swat for his efforts.

 

“Hey, she’ll come around. You know how cats are, Ro, all they do is tolerate us.” You joked, nuzzling him with your nose while keeping your body turned away so the cat couldn’t scratch him.

 

He chuckled, bumping his forehead against yours. “I’ll melt her. _Nobody_ resists me. You hear that, you pointy-eared gremlin? Your asshole days are _numbered_.”

 

The tabby did an admirable job of resisting Roman’s somewhat-clumsy affections, or it seemed to be. Until the day you walked in to Roman fast asleep on the couch, covered in scratches and Eilonwy settled smugly on his lap, purring away. “You little shit.” You sighed.

 

…

 

“You’re still too loose on your hands.” Roman instructed, “If I can wiggle and shake you off, nobody in the crowd is going to buy it. Try again?”

 

You nodded determinedly. You didn’t want to _hurt_ him, but then again, he was kind of built like a tank. You were pretty sure he’d be okay. You locked up for what felt like the millionth time, dropping him to the mat and quickly straddling his back. He struggled, pitching himself back and forth like he was trying to throw you and you trapped one of his arms over your thigh, then the other one.

 

Roman grunted, seeming startled by the speed of your motions. You didn’t give him time to collect himself, though, locking your fingers together on his chin. “I-” He began, then his voice was choked to a wheezy gasp when you leaned back, settling into your hold.

 

“How’s that, Reigns? Tight enough for you?” You snapped, unable to keep from relishing how powerful you felt as your usual trash talk started to bubble free. “Bet it’s kinda’ weird for you to be on the bottom, huh Reigns? Having somebody else stretch _you?_ Hands tight enough? Need to go tighter, maybe?” His fingers dug into the backs of your thighs and you felt, so briefly that you might have imagined it, his chin jerk further _down_ into your grip. “Oh? I’ll show you _tight_ , pretty boy.”

 

You weren’t sure when this had become such a _charged_ exercise. Not five minutes ago the two of you had been laughing and shoving each other. And yet now here you sat, his strong arms rendered useless by your thighs and better leverage, his head cranked back to an almost painful angle and his breath coming in harsh, panting gasps. He was _completely_ at your mercy but he made no move to tap out.

 

“I think you wanted this.” You choked out, grinning when he whimpered and wasted some of the precious breath you were making him work so hard to get. “I think _someone_ likes it when they don’t have to be all dominant. You’re _enjoying_ this, you little shit.”

 

Roman’s whole body tensed and you braced yourself, but all he did was buck his hips down against the canvas and growl, “ _more_ ” into your hands. You laughed and moved to grab a handful of his hair. If he wanted more, by _all_ means.


	48. Forty-Eight: Finn Balor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had the person they like put them in a submission hold/take them to the ground and accidentally blurted out their feelings starring Finn Balor.

In a word, Finn Balor considered himself unflappable. Not much could surprise him, and even less could upset or worry him. But right now, he was a bit… _concerned_. He’d agreed to run the ropes with his exceedingly attractive friend and of _course_ , like everyone else, they wanted to know the Goddamn submission holds.

 

So like an _idiot_ Balor had started rattling them off, watching their eyes get larger and larger as he did. Quite the gratifying experience, really, he had always loved teaching. “Yer crossbodies, yer figure-fours an’ so forth. S’ fascinatin’ stuff.”

 

“Could I try one? Maybe? Like you could put me in one?” They asked, looking way too excited for Finn to even _think_ about trying that, think about _hey, that’s probably a bad idea_.

 

“I’ll show ya’ how t’ do somethin’, _I’m_ not puttin’ _you_ in anythin’. Ya’ can try it out on me, s'at soun’ good?”

 

And that was how he’d ended up in this incredibly compromising position, legs caught in a figure-four lock that would make the Shimmer girls swoon. His friend at least seemed pleased with themselves, if the way that they were grinning at him was any indicator. “This is so cool! How do you get out of it, when you have to?”

 

“Ah, ya’ roll over onto yer belly, alliga'r-death-roll style.” Finn twisted his shoulders and pelvis to the side, easily flipping them along with him and hopefully buying himself a few seconds to talk down the problem he’d created for himself by getting into this situation. He propped himself up on his hands and knees and then ducked his head to look down at his stomach, cursing under his breath. “ _Gabh transna ort fhéin_ , I dinnae invite yer arse.” He huffed in frustration.

 

“Hey, how do I…” They trailed off, catching his gaze underneath his body. He watched, feeling like a complete _idiot_ as their eyes raked downwards. Finn quickly pitched them over onto their back and bolted to his feet, straightening his shorts out and clearing his throat.

 

“Well! I think that’ll be all, fer right…fer t'day, that is. I…fuck, I’m sorry.” He apologized, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I…s’ wrong a’ me t’ think of ya’ like that, an’ I unnerstant if ya’ don’t want to–I promise, I wasn’ tryin’ t’ take advan'age of ya’.”

 

They stood, tugging down their shirt as they did. “Finn, it’s okay, I’m sure that kind of thing happens-”

 

“Tch, not really, no. Y’ think I’d wrestle in my trunks if I had this kinda’ problem all'a time?” Finn snorted, confused when they started laughing. “S'nae funny, yer quite the distraction, ya’ fuckin’–”

 

“Oh, and _you’re_ not?” They interrupted, smiling up at him and sliding a hand down his chest to his shorts.

 

Finn sucked in a breath as they palmed him through the fabric, his hands raising to grip their shoulders. “Ya’ aren’t jus’ fuckin’ wit’ me, right? Yer serious?”

 

“You bet your ’ _arse_ ’, in those cute little trunks you wear.”

 

“ _Shite_ , don’t be _mockin’_ me in me own ring. Getcher arse t’ the showers.”

* * *

Translation Note:

_Gabh transna ort fhéin_ : Go fuck yourself sideways (literally _go sideways on yourself_ ).


	49. Forty-Nine: Mojo Rawley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Accidentally left a candle burning unattended and won at something that the person they like is really, really good at starring Mojo Rawley.

Most people probably wouldn’t expect him to be the type to know how to replace a fuse. Hell, most people seemed pretty impressed that he could pull air into his lungs like the rest of them. Mojo probably would have felt a bit more proud of himself if his flashlight wasn’t fucking toast, forcing him to use the stubby remains of a taper candle he found deep in the junk drawer.

 

Which he absently set down on the cement floor so he could use both hands to undo the packaging the fuses came in.

 

And then he left it there as he carefully unscrewed the old, burnt-out fuse.

 

He sort of _remembered_ , “hey wait, that was a _candle!_ ” after he’d finished swapping out the fuses and Mojo whipped around just as the flame drowned itself in a mess of wax, dumping him into the pitch black of his basement.

 

“That ain’t fuckin’ hype at _all!_ Where’s the light switch?!”

 

…

 

 

“ _Listen_. You don’t get it, okay? I never lose.” Mojo insisted, giving his friend a cocky grin. “Never. Not even when I have to in the ring. It’s not really losing. So this? This ain’t _shit_.”

 

“Rawley unless you’re in the mood for a word sandwich you’d better be able to put your quarters where your mouth is.” They smirked _right_ back at him and Mojo felt his heart skip a beat like always. He loved competition, it was his bread and butter and that was where his friend had come in. Not intimidated in the slightest by the notion of losing to the superstar, they were always doing their best to match and then one-up him in a refreshingly constant manner. They kept him on his toes, absolutely.

 

This was the one thing he’d never beaten them at. Their lone claim to fame, the only hill they were king of. Despite his skills, his strength, his speed, he had never reached their level of mastery. But all that would end tonight. He was sure of it.

 

He fed his quarters into the _Dance Dance Revolution_ machine and waited patiently (bounced up and down and talked shit) while they picked the song. So began their evening…

 

“You’re gonna’ _lose_ , Mojo!” They gasped, sticking their tongue out as the _SUDDEN DEATH_ logo flashed across the screen. “Lose, just like you do _every_ time, you ain’t hype!”

 

“Oh I think I’m _fully_ hype,” Mojo panted, “We’ve been tied all night, so say your _fuckin’_ prayers because I’m ‘bout to tear you _up!_ ”

 

“I guess this is the moment of truth, huh?”

 

“Guess so.”

 

“Nice knowing you.” They smiled smugly, still looking at him as the game started. And they missed the first three moves.

 

Mojo whooped in excitement as they sputtered and tried to rectify their mistake, but it was too late. He only missed one move through the song and ended up pulling off the victory, raising his arms in exhausted triumph.

 

“You cheated! You have robot legs or something!” They wheezed, making Mojo laugh as hard as he ever had.

 

“I wish! I’m going to be regretting this in the morning, that’s for sure.” He reached over and rumpled their hair, feeling that electric zing through his shoulder that happened every time he touched them. “Thanks for…thanks for letting me win, bro.”

 

They puffed out an indignant sound. “I did _no_ such thing, Rawley! You’ve finally surpassed the teacher. That’s it.”

 

“I dunno’, pretty sure you fucked up that first series of moves so I could win. I’m not countin’ this as a victory, but I don’t lose, so I guess we’ll have to have a rematch sometime.” Mojo grinned. “If you’re up for it, of course.”


	50. Fifty: Baron Corbin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got into a fight/physical altercation starring Baron Corbin. High School!AU.

Baron had always been _big_. Now, whether that was the kind of _big_ that made him more of a target or the _big_ that encouraged people to rethink their life choices, that didn’t really matter. He had always been big.

 

Bullying was not a new thing in school, but because of his aforementioned size he tended to get left alone. Aside from a few oh-so-brave “ _lard ass_ ” comments, which he quickly shut down with a _Look_. Baron hadn’t ever actually had to _fight_ anyone, nobody really dared and that was how he preferred it. School was miserable enough without his football-bound self getting dragged to the principal’s office every five minutes.

 

That being said, he didn’t exactly _hesitate_ when he saw one of his few friends getting bounced off the lockers after class.

 

Baron had _also_ always been very quick for his size, thundering up the hallway with all the destructive grace of a lava flow. He lowered his shoulder at the last second, driving it into the aggressor’s stomach and crushing him against the lockers at the end of the hall with a loud grunt. Baron stayed there for a minute, tossing a glance behind him to see his friend all curled up in a little ball beside their locker. “You alright?” He called, gritting his teeth when they didn’t reply. “ _Hey_ , are you al-”

 

The guy punched him in the jaw, still wheezing for breath. Baron stumbled back a step, a little rattled. He’d never been punched before, but he’d taken enough impacts with his head and shoulders in football to have a pretty good idea of what it felt like. He just didn’t expect the _boiling_ feeling in his gut, the anger that bubbled up because this guy, _this guy_ thought it was okay to fuck with one of his friends. “Bring it on, a…asshole-” The guy seemed to be having a tough time getting air in but brought his fists up anyway.

 

“You _hurt_ my _friend_.” Baron snarled, his own fists balled tightly. The other kid gulped loudly in the silence that followed, seeming suddenly aware of the fact that his predatory tactics had blown up in his face. There was no one around to help him, no one to keep the angry beast in front of him in check. “You want to know what it’s like to be smaller than someone, like how you made my friend feel?” Baron continued, his eyes narrowing. “You want to know what it’s like to be scared, _buddy?_ ”

 

“Wait, please, I just-”

 

“ _Shut_ up.” Baron snapped, ready for the next desperate punch the guy threw. He caught his arm and (for at least two seconds) he debated snapping it over his thigh like a fucking _twig_. But no, that was a little much, especially with the asshole alternating between thrashing and pleading the whole time. So Baron scooped him up bodily and proceeded to deposit him headfirst into the bolted-down trashcan across the hall. “Where you _fucking_ belong, you piece of garbage.” Baron couldn’t help the thrill of satisfaction he got, watching the guy’s legs flail wildly in the air for a second or two before returning to where his friend lay.

 

They were still all tucked up in the fetal position, and they cringed tighter when Baron drew close. “P-Please don’t, no more-” They begged.

 

The satisfaction bled out of him. “Hey, s'just me.” Baron tried to quiet his tone down, laying a large hand on their head. “You okay?”

 

They looked up at him and nodded quickly, eyes widening when they landed on the trashcan. “Baron, you…?”

 

“He knows not to fuck with you anymore. If he does, he’s going in the dumpster out back. C'mon.” He held out his hand, offering them a small smile. “Let’s get some lunch, I’m starvin’.”


	51. Fifty-One: Roman Reigns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Altered outcome idea from the Fatal Five Way, Extreme Rules 2017, starring Heel Turn!Roman. 
> 
> (I don’t really know what this is but here you go!)

Roman wondered in the back of his brain if this was what Ambrose felt like. The forefront of his brain, however, was a little busy. _Seth Seth Seth Seth Seth_ _ **Seth Seth SETH SETH**_ _-_

 

Roman hadn’t expected to shatter. But that was the joy of it all, he guessed. He’d been busted open by a jaw-cracking kick from Balor, the demon’s strength flooring him for a few minutes. And then Rollins, _Rollins_ , always fucking _Rollins_ , sneering at him from across the ring and the chair waiting, _waiting_ in the ring for Roman, for Seth, whoever would grab it first. Roman grasped Seth’s plan bare seconds before he was moving again, ribs screaming, blood souring his mouth.

 

_Seth_.

 

They were both in the ring at the same time, Seth cackling that fucking _laugh_ , the chair just _laying_ there and he obviously knew what it would make Roman think of. The rattle of steel against the back of his vest, the sharp _crack_ of blows on his bare skin.

 

But Rollins didn’t fucking know what he’d awakened.

 

And Roman snagged the chair out from beneath Seth’s hand, relishing in the shock on his face, the abrupt halt of that hysterical laughter. Oh this _must_ be what Ambrose felt like, there could be no other reason why he did crazy shit like lock guys into Figure Fours even with his leg giving out. Roman forgot about the other contenders. He forgot Wyatt and Joe and Balor, the only thing that mattered right now was _little brother little brother_ and the goddamn chair in his hand that _begged_ to be used.

 

It was a testament to his forgiving, _loyal_ nature that even in the middle of his infuriated haze, Roman sincerely debated dropping the chair and rolling back out of the ring. He shouldn’t stoop to Seth’s level. He’d promised he wouldn’t, had said over and over that he wouldn’t.

 

Now though, _now?_ Fuck it. Rollins was due and _overdue_ for this beating, it was about goddamn time that someone put the precious Kingslayer in his place. Roman didn’t recognize the voice that came out of his mouth, blood spattering as he snarled loudly.

 

“ _This is for what you did to us!_ ”

 

He swung the chair with all his might, the dull impact of metal on Seth’s side ringing in his ears. Rollins staggered, yelping in pain and Roman hated it, he _loved_ it and he wanted more, more _more more_ _ **more**_ _-_

 

This wasn’t him anymore. This wasn’t who he was. Roman Reigns wasn’t capable of something like this, something so completely _batshit_. The only person with the honor of pushing him over the edge before this was none other than Triple H, and it was so goddamn _poetic_ that Trip’s _prodigy_ , his _favored_ , the one who had _turned on him_ , was now the one receiving the beating from hell.

 

“ _This is for what you did to_ _ **me!**_ ”

 

Roman slammed the chair into Seth’s back, caving him in like he was made of glass. Rollins, stupid, _stupid_ Rollins, tried to flip over, tried to scramble away. But Roman pinned him to the mat with a boot on the back of his bad knee, making Seth scream in pain and thrash wildly. No more going easy, no more _protecting_ him even when they fought. Roman knelt, knee digging into the back of Seth’s thigh, and he grabbed a handful of Seth’s hair, _jerking_ his head back dangerously hard. Rollins struggled for breath, coughing and gasping as Roman shifted the chair underneath the younger man’s chin.

 

“ _This is for what you took from me!_ ”

 

He brought Seth’s head down on the steel seat, Rollins pinned beneath the weight of his body and unable to fight back. Again and again and _again_ Roman battered him, the static in his brain only broken by the ringing of the impacts, the whimpering as Rollins begged for him to have mercy. But there was no stopping him now, it was too goddamn late. Rollins could deal with the consequences of his actions, betrayal and _lies_ while his face was being crushed into _paste_.

 

Roman didn’t even care that the moment he got up to stand triumphantly over the bruised remains of Rollins, he caught Finn’s Coup De Grace square in the chest. Because then Samoa Joe was wrapping himself around Finn like a boa constrictor, arms and legs his deadly, squeezing coils.

 

Roman didn’t even care that he lost his chance at Brock. There would be other opportunities, he reasoned, other ways he could continue down this road. Because why stop at Rollins, really? This was _his_ yard. It was about goddamn time that people started respecting that fact.

 

Roman didn’t even care about the way Ambrose looked at him when he shoved through the curtain, the way silence dominated the locker room. One versus all was how it had been, and one versus all it would continue to _fucking_ be. Let everyone heed this _fucking_ warning, beaten into Seth’s face with the extreme prejudice of delayed justice.

 

The Big Dog would have his day.


	52. Fifty-Two: Eddie Guerrero and Chyna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: So I know you don't take requests, but I was wondering what your take on Eddie Guerrero in the trucker!AU would be like?  
> (I sat on this message for God only knows how long, because every time I think of Eddie I just get so gosh darn sad. But…here’s my answer. I am all in my feels right now, and I sincerely apologize to everyone.)

[See the Trucker!AU [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8877622/chapters/20352820).]

 

“' _Home is where the mamacita is_ ', I've always said.” He reached over the space between their seats to take her hand, smiling like a goofy teenager.

 

She sighed, rolling her eyes but permitting him to take her hand all the same. She tried her hardest not to smile back.

 

“You could say that I live in Mamacita, eh?” He continued, still smiling as he stretched across the steering wheel to shift gears.

 

“I could say that sounds creepy.” She replied, grimacing.

 

“I could say a lot of things, but I know what you want to hear.” He raised an eyebrow. “I know _exactly_ what you want to hear.”

 

“And do you _always_ tell people what they want to hear?”

 

“ _No hace daño_ , Mamacita.” He shrugged. “People like what they like, not my place to knock them out of the sky.” He took his hand off of her, pushing his trucker cap back a little. “We're almost there, anyhow.”

 

“Almost where? We're _miles_ from New Hampshire, what are you-”

 

“Mamacita _please_. It's a surprise. You don't want to ruin the surprise, right?” He asked.

 

She slouched down in her seat, crossing her arms and chewing on her thumbnail. It was a nervous habit she'd picked up ages ago. Slowly, he snuck his hand back over and gently swooped her fingers into his grasp again.

 

“Ah ah, no chewing. C'mon, you've been doing so good.” He encouraged, running his thumb over her own and feeling the chipped nail polish. “So good. I know there's not a lot for you to do in here. It's only a little further, a few more miles and we'll stretch our legs, okay?”

 

“...alright.”

 

…

 

He hopped down out of the truck, taking a second to stretch and groan before trotting around to the passenger side of his rig and almost catching the opening door with his face. As always. “Mamacita! How many times I gotta' tell you, _I_ open the door?!” He sputtered, offering her a hand getting down. “It's a gentleman thing, c'mon.”

 

She gave him a kiss on the cheek and he smiled, slinging an arm over her shoulders and tugging her into his side. “Where are we, anyway?” She asked, looking around curiously.

 

“Just another rest stop. Here, let's go sit on that bench.” He suggested, loving the way she relaxed against him as they walked. “How's your legs?”

 

“A little achy. I _really_ need to warm up better.” She admitted.

 

“You'll figure it out. I have faith in you.” He settled down onto the bench and pulled her into his lap, ignoring her protests. “When will you understand that you're not going to crush me, eh? There's no one around to see, if that's what you're worried about. It's okay.” He assured her. “Nobody can see you all curled up on my lap, Mamacita. Nobody will laugh.”

 

She fell silent, her head resting on his chest as he hummed quietly and stroked her hair. “Thank you.” Her voice was so soft.

 

“For what? It's not as if I'm the first person to say these things to you.” He tipped her face up so he could see her eyes. She began chewing her bottom lip and he pressed his thumb to her chin, ' _tsk_ 'ing. “No chewing, c'mon. Talk to me, Chyna.” He whispered. “Talk to me.”

 

“When we first met, do you remember what you said to me?” She asked, straightening up a little.

 

He frowned. “You were working in that bar. I said...I said I'd been looking for you.”

 

“Why did you say that?”

 

“Obviously to get you into the truck without a fuss, _woman_.”

 

“Eddie...”

 

“Alright, alright. I said it because...I unno', really. You seemed like you could use someone who was looking for you, I guess?” He fumbled, clearing his throat.

 

“Thank you for finding me.”

 

“Oh God, you're gonna' choke me if you keep this thanking stuff up.” He groaned, scrunching his face when she kissed his nose. “Listen, there's...something I gotta' ask you. Something important, okay?”

 

“What's going on?” She pulled back from him warily and he had to remind himself not to take it personally. The fact that she was still on his lap was a testament to the progress they'd made.

 

“I mean I've just...I've kinda' gotten used to having you around on the road. Helping out in the truck. I was just wondering,” He paused, starting to toy with her hair, “I mean, if there was any way you might...maybe consider, ah, sticking around. After we get to New Hampshire.” He sucked in a breath. “ _Quédate conmigo_.” He didn't mean for it to come out in such a pleading way, honestly he felt a little pathetic about the whole thing. She stared up at him, her eyes wide. He squirmed under her scrutiny, finally looking up at the sky instead of at her.

 

The stars were just beginning to appear, sunset still faintly visible on the edge of the horizon. It promised to be a beautifully clear night. He was disappointed that he'd probably ruined it for himself with his big mouth. She cupped his face, tugging him back down to look at her. “Why?” She asked softly. And he _knew_ her, knew she wasn't just fishing for compliments.

 

“I like you.” He said bluntly. “I like having you around. I like that you're strong. I like that you're smart. I like that you're prett--oh _don't_ give me that look, Mamacita, you are _gorgeous_. I don't care how many times I gotta' say it before you get it through your head.” He blustered as she took his cap off. “What are you-?”

 

She kissed him on the mouth, smiling at him afterwards. “Yes.”

 

His brow furrowed. “'Yes'?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“ _Oh!_ ” He caught both her hands in his own and held them to his chest, sure that his grin was from ear to ear. “You mean it, Mamacita?! Seriously?”

 

“Seriously.”

 

He picked her up and spun them around, laughing and pressing their foreheads together. “ _Mi corazón_ , that means the world to me!” He said excitedly. “I'll have Batista draft me a new contract, that _cabrón_ owes me a favor or twelve for sticking my neck out for him. But for now, wanna' _solidify_ our new partnership, Mamacita?” This was said with an immensely cheesy wink and click of his tongue, making her roll her eyes.

 

She finally smiled again, giving him a light shove towards his rig. “You go on ahead. I'll be there in a second.” She murmured.

 

He trotted back to the truck and opened the driver's side door, swinging up into the vehicle once again. Instead of getting ready for bed though, he sat sideways in the driver's seat, watching her slowly move to lean against the railing that surrounded the meager rest stop. Many a night he'd spent here in his years of work, just looking up at the stars and thinking hard about all the choices he'd made.

 

_I wouldn't change a thing_.

 

She finally straightened up and meandered back to the truck, looking up at him in his seat. He held out his hand and she took it, her fingers curling tightly around his own. “I've been waiting for you, Mamacita.” He said quietly.

 

_Te dije que te encontraría._

* * *

 

Translation Note:

 

_No hace daño_ : It does not hurt.

_Quédate conmigo_ : Stay with me.

_Mi corazón_ : My heart.

_Te dije que te encontraría_ : I told you I'd find you.

 

 


	53. Fifty-Three: Were!Roster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who saw Zootopia! Short little were!drabble, set the day before a big pay-per-view (Maybe ‘Mania or something). Enjoy!

Dean’s ears perked up at the sneaky “ _awoo!_ ” from the bathroom, and a wry grin teased the corners of his mouth. “I told you that’s not going to work.” He called, laughing when his mate peeked their head around the door. They had a expression of disappointment and Dean relented, tugging them in for a quick hug. “It’s because we can tell the difference between a faker and the real deal. If one of _us_ started up, though? I bet we’d deafen ya’.”

“So do it! I want to hear. Unless you’re chicken.” They started clucking at Ambrose and he groaned, running a hand through his hair.

 

“Alright, _fine_. Stop with the biddy act, darlin’. _You’re_ the one who’s gonna’ answer questions when folks come knocking, understand?”

 

They nodded enthusiastically, hugging him tight. “This is gonna’ be so cool.”

 

Dean arched his back, getting a few cricks out of his spine before shaking himself bodily. It usually helped if he was as relaxed as possible before doing this. “Cover your ears. S’loud.” He said by way of warning, before tilting his head skyward and unleashing a long, _I’m here, I’m here!_ howl.

 

…

 

Roman whipped around, his ponytail catching him in the face from how rapid the motion was. The need was already building in his chest and he hastily bolted for the balcony. His mate squeaked, startled at the sudden arrival of Roman interrupting their nightly read time. Reigns gripped the railing and howled in reply to Dean, a little confused as to why the other man felt the need to call out his position. _I’m here, I’m here!_

 

“Roman? What was…what are you doing, Ro?” His mate asked, setting their book aside and moving to stand beside him.

 

“Answering the howl, babe.” Roman grunted, wrapping an arm around his mate and pulling them against his side. “Dunno’ what he wants, though. He needs to be careful, this could get out of hand.”

 

…

 

Baron jolted awake out of a sound sleep, every nerve in his body suddenly firing on all cylinders. He groaned, putting his hands over his face. His mate next to him in bed stirred at the howl that echoed through the courtyard. Baron assumed that there had been one before it to wake him up, but he didn’t really have the time to think about it.

 

In the bed across the room, Alexa sat bolt upright. “What the hell…?” She mumbled, rubbing her eyes as Baron all but fell out of bed. “That’s Roman, why is he-”

 

Corbin had been trying to reach the balcony but it just wasn’t happening in time. He grabbed a pillow and howled into it, doing his best to stifle the noise. _I’m here, I’m here!_ “Sorry. I haven’t howled in ages.” He panted afterwards, feeling his face flush with embarrassment.

 

“’Lexa? Wus’ wrong?” Bayley yawned, doing her damnedest to drag the other woman back down.

 

Baron’s mate had also been woken up by the commotion and Baron scrambled back into the bed, cradling them to his chest. “Sorry Little One, everything’s alright, go back to sleep.” He soothed. They snuggled into his arms, giving a quiet, sleepy little “ _awoo_ ” of their own and making him grin.

 

…

 

Finn heard the racket start up and with a heavy sigh resigned himself to a long night. He couldn’t help his little smirk as he relaxed into the flimsy chaise lounge on the balcony, mentally counting down in his head. _Five, four, three, two-_

 

Sami Zayn burst through the French doors leading out onto the balcony, looking decidedly unsettled. “What the heck was that?!” He sputtered, giving Finn a suspicious glance. “Was that you doing crazy stuff again?”

 

Balor held up a hand peaceably. “Zayn, if it were me you’d be seein’ rivers a’ blood or tryin’ ta’ claw yer own eyes out at this point. S’ not me. It’s a few a’ the other lads on the roster.”

 

“What are they doing though? I don’t-”

 

“Ach, one of ‘em started a howl. They ough’ter know better, but what can ya’ do.” Finn shrugged, patting the folding chair beside the chaise. “Have a seat, Zayn. Listen to the man-beasts be idjits.”

 

Sami cautiously settled into the chair, flinching when a trio of howls rang out anew. “Who is _that_ now?!”

 

…

 

“Think they heard us, lads?” Tyler asked, grinning at Pete and Trent.

 

Pete’s scowl eased up for a minute while Trent shrugged. “Couldn’t hurt to give a repeat performance, just in case. I wonda’ who started it? Tha’ was Big Ben Baron above us.” Pete mused.

 

“Was probably Mr. Trips, that shite.” Trent chuckled. “Remember durin’ the recruitin’, how he sniffed us out?”

 

“Oh yeah, he’s a piss head about it.” Tyler agreed, squaring his shoulders back up. “On three then.”

 

…

 

Nash barely raised an eyebrow at the sound of the rowdy younglings in the room next door, ambling lazily to the balcony. He stretched and yawned, humming under his breath when the three kicked up another chorus of _I’m here, I’m here!_

 

Kevin took a contemplative sip from his glass of wine. It had been _years_ since he’d participated in this howl business, grinning to himself at the memories of messing with Warrior or Bret. For the new generation, though, he supposed he could grace them with his acknowledgment. He would howl for those no longer with them.

 

Nash’s call was more mournful, _I was here, we were here!_ Out of the corner of his eye he caught the three young men from the UK staring at him from their own balcony, and he turned to offer them a raised eyebrow. “Get to bed, you punks.” He ordered, chuckling. “Big day tomorrow.”

 

…

 

“ _Shut up, you stupid idiots!_ ” Jericho yelled, banging on the ceiling of his room. “Some of us are trying to sleep!”

 

A familiar voice answered him through the wall to his right. “ _Chris I swear to_ _ **God**_ _-!_ ”

 

“Oh what are you gonna’ do Owens, you big pussbag?!” Chris shouted, “Fight me!”

 

…

 

Seth put a pillow over his head, growling loudly when his neighbors continued to argue. It sounded like they were in the damn _hallway_ outside his door.

 

“Will you guys knock it the _fuck_ off?!” He hollered finally, granted blissful silence for approximately two seconds. Another bay met his ears, this one further down the hallway. “This is _worse_ than the CyberFights gig, what the _fuck!_ ”

 

…

 

Bo was a little unsettled by all the howling going on, but his dad _had_ told him a few stories about things like this happening back in the day. He debated waking up Bray, but shook his head after a second. That was no good, whatever was in Bray’s skin probably wouldn’t care to be bugged at this hour.

 

A strange feeling filled his chest and Bo grimaced, swallowing hard to try and get rid of it. To no avail though, if anything it just grew stronger. He tried to groan but the noise came out much louder than intended, like it was backlogged somewhere. _Here I am, here I am!_

 

…

 

“ _That’s_ a new one, write it down.” Breeze said while skillfully applying his nightly face mask. Beside him, an already-masked Fandango quickly scribbled in his notepad.

 

“Why do you think this is happening, Officer Breeze?” Fandango asked, tapping his chin carefully with his pen.

 

“’Dango _please_ , your facial hair already makes it hard for the mask to stick. Don’t ruin it.” Tyler smoothed his fingers across Fandango’s chin, thankful that the mask hadn’t fully set yet. “And I don’t _know_. Is it a full moon?”

 

“Barely half, but I thought we established that wasn’t a contributing factor.” Fandango pointed out, drawing a circle on his notepad and writing down _moon?_.

 

“I guess not. Unless all the stories are wrong, that is.” Breeze sighed, rubbing at his temples and accidentally smearing some of the mask in his hair. Fandango chuckled, picking up the warm washcloth and carefully wiping the substance away before it stiffened.

 

“It’ll be alright, Tyler. We’re the best guys for this job, anyhow.”

 

“I feel like we’re the _only_ guys, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

 

…

 

The familiar (and _not_ so familiar) howls began to rise and Dean joined back in a few more times. His mate stood beside him on the balcony, their fingers twined with his own as they just listened to the ruckus echoing in the courtyard.

 

Dean finally stopped, turning back to them and taking in their wide-eyed expression. “And _that_ , darlin’, is why you don’t start a howl.” He grinned.


	54. Fifty-Four: Seth Rollins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A companion piece to the altered outcome I wrote from the Extreme Rules 2017 Fatal Four Way. Seth's perspective this time.

[Roman's Perspective](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11179653/chapters/24962568)

 

 

“ _This is for what you did to us!_ ”

 

Whether Seth had earned it or not ( _deny that deny that_ ) the chair fell all the same. Striking across his ribs with the dull echo of betrayal, bringing back the hot, sick combination of triumph and self-loathing in his gut when he had watched Roman crumple and Dean just _stared_ at him like he couldn’t believe it, mouth slightly agape and eyes pleading, _begging_.

 

“ _This is for what you did to_ _ **me!**_ ”

 

The shoe was unfortunately on the other foot now. He should have known better than to trifle with Roman. Seth of _all_ people knew what he was capable of and yet he’d practically gift-wrapped him an opportunity to kick his ass. Why, _why_ hadn’t he grabbed the chair faster?

 

_Because I didn’t want to_.

 

_Because I deserve this_.

 

Seth tried to curl himself a little tighter but Roman’s fingers dug fiercely into his hair and dragged his head up. The chair slid beneath Seth’s chin and _oh God_ , he was in for it now. Roman’s knee crushed down into the back of Seth’s bad one and that was it, that was it, he was immobilized and about to be pummeled and all he could think was _I deserve this I deserve this_ as he screamed in pain.

 

It wasn’t enough that he’d abandoned his so-called mentor, it wasn’t enough that he’d struck out on his own. He had never apologized, confident that this was the way of the business. Climb over everyone else to get to the top of that ladder. When Triple H offered him nothing else, Rollins sent the old man packing.

 

Roman still called him little brother when he came back. Even when they threw themselves at each other Roman protected his knee, often at the cost of his own body via Buckle Bomb. Dean, the opposite end of the spectrum, raged and yelled and punched with everything he had but he _also_ refused to touch Seth’s knee, refused to use that to his advantage.

 

_Little brother little brother_.

 

That was obviously forgotten now, though, Roman’s weight centered on pinning his leg to the canvas. The strain on his ligaments made Rollins want to scream again but he was barely able to draw breath with how vigorously Roman was reminding him of his betrayal. Seth was a little surprised it had taken this long for Reigns to give in, he’d always figured Ambrose would be the first one to break. Then again, he couldn’t really _break_ what he had already shattered, now could he?

 

_Deny that deny that I don’t deserve this not my fault I did what I had to--_

 

Roman slammed his head down against the chair and Seth felt like the impact reverberated back through the years. Every time he’d given one of his brothers a curbstomp came rushing back, memories flooding to the surface. The way his boot skidded sometimes on the dampness of Roman’s hair before the other man collapsed to the ground. The way Ambrose would try to fight it, to the point where Rollins would be terrified ( _deny that deny that_ ) he’d broken his brother’s neck when he finally caved in.

 

Roman hadn’t stopped shouting yet, the larger man obviously shoved far past his breaking point. “ _This is for what you took from me!_ ” Blood spattered across the chair and Seth wondered dimly whether it was his own or Roman’s. He was aware that he was saying something. Might have been goading Roman on, but he also might have been begging for mercy. He couldn’t hear himself think over the other man’s tirade, the words digging into his spine like knives.

 

_For what you did to us. For what you took from us. For what you did to me. For what you did to him_.

 

The world grayed out with each solid crack of his jaw against the chair and Rollins finally took the plunge, closing his eyes and feeling the sensation of his body falling, falling…

 

He came back around to medics surrounding him and he grabbed one of them by their polo. “ _Where is he?_ ” Seth asked blearily, his knee screaming in the background. Everything ached, he just wanted to be unconscious again. “ _Where did Roman go?_ ”

 

Nobody would answer him and he pulled himself upright, limped from the ring with a medic under his arm to keep him moving. He ignored the cheers, shell-shocked from the beating he’d taken.

 

Ambrose came to him then behind the curtain, _Ambrose_ came to him, limping with his own leg all wrapped and he just stared at the other man.

 

“ _Had to whack that hornet’s nest, huh Rollins?_ ” The ‘Lunatic’ needled. But that was how Ambrose had always been. Dealing with a pile of his own troubles and he had to find Rollins, act like he didn’t care while making sure he was still pulling breath into his lungs.

 

Rollins didn’t expect the usual not-care care to wound him. It hurt, it _hurt_ so much worse than his knee or his face, pinging off his spine and sticking in his ribs to ache where his heart should be.

 

_Little brother little brother_.

 

He’d always been so emotional.

 

Seth felt tears well up in his eyes and to his utter shame he started crying, _sobbing_ right there in front of Dean. Everything _hurt_ and he was just so damn tired, so tired of being alone in hotel rooms looking in the mirror and wondering what it was like to see someone he could be proud of staring back at him. The whole time his brain whispered _not my fault_ but it was, oh _God_ it was, he had done this. He wanted to just wail out his pain like when he was small, lay down and cry himself empty.

 

He was so tired of being on his own.

 

And then Ambrose’s arms were around him, the ‘Lunatic’ hugging him as tight as he could. A hand roughly worked over his tangled hair, making a half-assed attempt at smoothing it back into some semblance of order. “ _Why’d you do it, man? You shoulda’ thought a little more on that. Weren't you the brains of the group?_ ”

 

Dean held him and let him sob and Seth hadn’t known how much he’d missed the contact; he dug his fingers into Dean’s back as he finally realized everything that he’d ruined. Apologies bled sluggishly from him, the words sticking in his throat but he shoved them out anyway because he owed it to Ambrose, owed it to Reigns, because _big brother big brother I pushed you too far_.

 

Once upon a time they had been a veritable Cerberus, the Shield, the _Hounds of Justice_ , a three-headed beast that struck fear into the hearts of the whole establishment. Recognized and _respected_ as the threat that they were. Rollins would forever hold the knowledge that he had been the weakest link in their group. While on a quest to be the strongest he had fallen victim to poisonous words, to doubts and _what ifs_ and promises dangled in front of his nose.

 

He would always regret letting Triple H get into his head. Because now there was that fear that he hadn’t closed the door all the way, the worry that he was easier to persuade than his brothers. The fact that he was _capable_ of betrayal to that level still ruined his sleep some nights. The crack of the chair, the look on Ambrose’s face, the way Roman had dropped. Triple H’s arm like a dead weight around his shoulders, pulling Seth into his side and calling him _son_.

 

How could he ever apologize for that? How the hell could anyone trust him again? He didn’t even trust _himself_.

 

“ _It’s alright, you little fuck-up_.” Ambrose’s voice was much gentler than his words. “ _You broke him, you know that. You can’t take him on by yourself. You can bluster all you want but we both know Ro is the definition of strong fuckin’ medicine. So what are you gonna’ do?_ ”

 

“ _I don’t know_.” Seth started wiping his eyes, tried to shake himself off a little.

 

“ _Well maybe you ought to start considerin’ some things._ ” Ambrose swatted his shoulder and Rollins grunted. “ _An apology has potential_.”

 

“ _Christ, where the hell would I even start?_ ” Seth asked bleakly.

 

“ _How about answerin’ the ‘why’ question?_ ” Ambrose paused for a minute. “ _Trips came to me and Reigns too. Different times. The same offer he made you, I'll bet._ ”

 

Seth’s stomach dropped out.

 

“ _He came to me first. Probably figured since I got a few screws loose I’d sell my brothers out for a wish and a fuckin’ chance at a shiny belt. Promised me a championship run longer than my U.S. one. Roman and I both had a few different reasons for tellin’ him to fuck off, but one we had in common was the Shield. We said we would never turn our backs on one another._ ” Ambrose looked sad, worn. “ _We didn’t wanna’ tell you. Didn’t want you to worry or have to think about either of us goin’ rogue. See how well that shit worked out._ ”

 

“ _I couldn’t keep mediating you two_.” The excuse was one he’d told himself a million times; Ambrose was nodding before the words were fully out of his mouth.

 

“ _Look, we were all meant for more important things. We weren’t gonna’ be a team forever. I think we’d all just hoped we would part on better terms than the stunt you pulled permitted_.”

 

Dean lazily picked at his shirt for a second, not meeting Seth’s eyes.

 

“ _Like I said Rollins, an apology has…_ _ **potential**_.”

 


	55. Fifty-Five: The Undertaker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains references to were!Reigns. Set during 'Mania 33.

The bell rang out slow, droning. Everything was soaked in regal purple. The sky went black as midnight, thunder rolling and mist rising thick as the organ began to play.

 

_He’s here. He’s here_.

 

Not even the faithful dared to chant now, too mesmerized by the towering figure all in black, fists clenched at his sides and face in shadow from his large-brimmed hat. He had been summoned. He had been _challenged_. And now The Phenom had arrived.

 

The challenger stood alone, his head bowed in respect. But those gray eyes, pupils blown wide with focus, watched the older man’s every move. His chest plate caught the purple light and shone silver even through the suffocating color, a defiant beacon in the darkness.

 

For a split second, the Undertaker smiled. _This_ was what he had been waiting for. This young wolf didn’t cower. This wolf didn’t flee or skulk in the shadows. It was fitting, the Undertaker supposed, that a Hound would be the one to tear his throat out.

 

The Deadman had felt his strength ebbing in the days preceding the match, another toll of the bell heralding the approach of the end. He had accomplished much in his long years, watched stars rise and fall. Spotlights held no joy for him now, unworthy adversaries could neither beg nor borrow his interest. But this one.

 

This one had piqued his curiosity.

 

The one they called Roman, another descendant of a legendary bloodline. Pure as could be managed in today’s dwindling supernatural society. Of course, the wolf’s kind had the unique curse of being afflicted with _soul-mates_ who were, more often than not, simply ordinary humans.

 

He had tipped The Undertaker out of the ring and stood there, his head held high and shoulders back as they stared each other down. The beast had been close to the surface then, Roman’s teeth sharp as he all but barked at the older man, “ _My yard!_ ” Gray eyes narrowed, the light color barely visible past the engorged pupils of a barely-biped, a wolf in man’s clothing.

 

The Undertaker was _thrilled_ with the fire he saw. This one would do it. This one.

 

As he climbed the stairs to the ring, years upon years flashed in front of his eyes. Things he had done. Things he _hadn’t_ done. Doubts, regrets. Lightning surged through his body, once more gracing him with the kiss of barely-bridled power. He was old now, ancient, wise and weary of this life. It was time.

 

He would not go easily. But he would go all the same.

 

Roman stood silently, waiting for the elder to prepare himself for their battle. He made no attempt to attack The Undertaker before he was ready, a considerate gesture that The Undertaker would not have returned were their roles reversed. He was frail now, eyes rolling back in his head and nothing except shocks of lightning urging him forward. Better a quick snap of the neck in the heat of battle than some lamed creature begging to be put out of its misery.

 

But he appreciated the respect, giving Roman a simple nod out of courtesy.

 

Their fight was ugly. The Undertaker was fading, he could feel it. Roman let the match go on for as long as he feasibly could, the wolf giving him so many chances to catch his breath and regain his footing. It was no quick snap of the neck, but neither was it a mercy killing. It was not the match that should have been, but it was all that the match _could_ be at this point.

 

There was a brief flash of fear when he had given Roman his Tombstone, the wolf waiting until two and a half to yank his shoulder up off the mat. Reigns slumped lifeless on the canvas and The Undertaker wasn’t sure if he was playing up his power or not, hearing a gasping retch fight free of the wolf’s throat when he dragged him up. But no, Roman slithered off his shoulder and almost had him right there, dodging his clumsy attempts at a Hell’s Gate and cracking into The Undertaker’s jaw with a teeth-jarring blow.

 

_In another life_ , The Undertaker reasoned as he struggled to stand, pulled himself up by the ring ropes. He managed to catch the wolf off-guard, the younger man assuming he wouldn’t try for a third time. And with the Hell’s Gate locked firmly around Roman’s left arm, The Undertaker closed his eyes and offered his own howl to Roman. A raspy, broken sound that made Reigns shudder bodily and begin to thrash; the wolf dragged the both of them to the ropes to ‘break’ the hold when he felt The Undertaker’s grip start to weaken.

 

_In another life_.

 

“ _Stay_ _ **down!**_ ” Roman shouted, reverence evident in the waver of his voice before he slammed the final shot from the steel chair onto The Undertaker’s back. The Undertaker wasn’t sure how many more Spears he could withstand before this form would give out, but he was determined to keep getting back up until he couldn’t.

 

Roman waited for him to get back up. Waited for him to stagger back for more, giving his own chest-deep roar of respect for The Undertaker before taking him down again. He continued to pin, continued to let The Undertaker get one shoulder up. Until he couldn’t anymore.

 

_It wasn’t everything it should have been, but it was everything that it could be_.

 

Roman took no joy in his win, laying on his back beside The Undertaker and panting out a quiet, “ _Thank you_ ,” while the crowd screamed their names and cheers rang out. The Undertaker laid there long after Roman had gotten to his feet. He heard the fireworks, brilliant flashes showing even through his eyelids.

 

When the lights dimmed purple once more, the mournful tolling of the bell told him that it was time. The Undertaker, urged on by every individual in the arena, slowly rose to his feet for the last motion. Roman stood at the bottom of the steps to the ring, his head bowed again.

 

The wolf’s shoulders shook. This was supposed to be a moment of triumph, but it was more befitting to The Undertaker’s character that the victory had garnered the feeling of a funerary procession. Lightning crackled through the sky and The Undertaker saw tear tracks on the wolf’s face. He clapped a hand roughly on the younger man’s quivering shoulder as cheers of “ _Thank You ‘Taker!_ ” spurred him to finish what had been started.

 

With one hand on Roman’s shoulder and the other raised skyward, the transfer of power commenced. The Undertaker’s last corporeal memories were of a coliseum roaring his name, power blinding-bright flowing through his body and the young wolf’s eyes meeting his own, silver stained with purple and wet with gratitude and honor.

 

_Thank you ‘Taker_.


	56. Chapter Fifty-Six: Ambreigns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Action Movie AU Asks: Who would push the other out of the way?

This is a tough one to answer. On the one hand, you _know_ Ambrose is going to pull some martyr shit because that’s just who he is, his own well-being is _never_ the first thing on his mind. But on the other hand, Reigns probably wouldn’t be able to get past the guilt if something _did_ happen to Ambrose because of him being inattentive. Dean’s already dealt with more than enough. So it would be Roman, by the _merest_ margin.

 

_Dean was still yelling threats in the direction of where the bullet had come from, his usually steady hands shaky on Roman’s wounded shoulder. “Stay with me, Big Dog, c'mon!”_

_“I’m fine uce, it was just a graze-” Roman protested._

_“That fucker should have **killed** me, Reigns. **Boom!** Done. You saved my fuckin’ life. Let me be worried for a second or two, shit. Asshole.” _

_“You deserve to live, man. I just reacted.”_

_“I ain’t livin’ at your fuckin’ **expense** , idiot.” Dean rubbed his forehead against Roman’s. “Wouldn’t be worth it without you around.”_


	57. Chapter Fifty-Seven: Ambrolleigns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Action Movie AU Asks: Who initiates…The Kiss?

_Whatever they just dealt with was absolutely over the top, balls to the wall levels of insanity and they definitely should **not** have survived but here they are and that breath in his lungs has never tasted sweeter in his **life**. So Dean grabs Reigns and Rollins and crushes them all together in the mother of all bear hugs. Roman drops his forehead to Ambrose’s shoulder, exhausted, and Dean always kisses them on the head anyhow, so he presses his lips to the tangled mess of hair beneath him and he hears Roman sigh.  
_

_When he goes to do it to Seth though, Rollins turns his head at the last second and their mouths meet but Seth doesn’t seem upset in the slightest, doesn’t seem to think it’s weird (and it’s not like Dean’s **thought** about it, he’s definitely never thought about doing this. Definitely not). Dean keeps going, one hand clumsily grasping at Seth’s tactical gear to hold him still. Seth covers his fingers with his own, smiling. Dean’s other hand finds its way to the nape of Roman’s neck and grips possessively. Because fuck it, he’s a greedy son of a bitch.  
_

_Then Roman’s stubble is scraping his jaw and the larger man is chuckling in Dean’s ear, “About damn time, Ambrose.”_


	58. Chapter Fifty-Eight: Ambreigns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Action Movie AU Asks: Who would take that perfect shot at the villain?

Ambrose. Without a doubt. 

Roman is all heart and would be in Dean’s ear the whole time about _negotiating_ or _reasoning_ with the guy. Meanwhile Ambrose is checking the wind, making sure the sun isn’t in his eyes… 

_“But if we could-”_

_“No.” Dean cut Roman off curtly, taking a few measured breaths and lining up his crosshairs._

_“But if-”_

_“ **Reigns**.” _

_“I’m just saying that-”_

_Ambrose pulled the trigger and Roman went still. “There_.” _Dean grunted. “Done. Simple.”_

_“…that was a pretty good shot.” Reigns admitted._

_“ **Pretty** good?! How dare you, fuckin’ outrageous…” Dean sputtered indignantly the whole time he folded his tripod up, his hackles thoroughly raised. Until Roman started laughing and rumpled his hair._


	59. Chapter Fifty-Nine: Zowens/Steenerico

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Action Movie AU Asks: In an outright fistfight against stacked odds, who would come out still swinging?

If the enemy knows anything, it’s that one Kevin Owens is a force to be reckoned with. Just look at him! He looks like a grizzly bear! So they’re surrounded, outnumbered, he’s bludgeoned to the ground, and then all of a sudden…

 

_“ **Kevin!** ” Sami shouts and Kevin is vaguely aware that a pair of legs are straddling him, Sami is standing over him. “ **Touch him again and I’ll break your fingers!** ” Sami is **roaring** , the air crackling with the impacts of his fists and boots as he beats back the horde that had swarmed his partner. _

_Kevin rolls onto his side to give Zayn a dazed grin, his left eye swollen almost shut. “You’re not half-bad for someone who doesn’t like to fight.” He wheezes._

_“I’ll fight for this. I’ll fight for **you**. As long as I have to. Even if that’s forever.” Zayn isn’t unscathed, not by a long shot, startlingly-red blood smearing down his jaw from where he’d been caught in the mouth. He extends a bruised-knuckled hand to help Kevin to his feet, staggering a little when Owens drags him into a hug once he’s upright._

_“Thank you.” Kevin murmurs and he feels Zayn slump against him. Relief or exhaustion, he’s not sure which. “Thank you.”_


	60. Chapter Sixty: Rolleigns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Action Movie AU Asks: Who would push the other out of the way?

_Seth sweeps his leg and Roman is suddenly on his back, the wind knocked out of him. Rollins opens his mouth, starts to say something, maybe an apology._

_There’s a bang and it’s **loud** , so loud. Roman knows he should recognize the noise but a part of him doesn’t really want to. He knows he should recognize the way Seth crumples, holding his thigh. He’s seen it a thousand times, he’s **done** it a thousand times to the forces on the other side. Rollins sobs out a pained breath between clenched teeth. He’s trying so hard to be quiet and blood is blotting the gray fabric of his pants at his hip and Roman needs to find cover **now**. _

_He grabs Seth’s arm and manhandles him behind an empty trailer, bullets peppering the dust at his heels. “What the **fuck** did you do that for?!” Roman demands, propping Rollins up and trying to determine how deep the wound is, whether they need to scrub this mission. His hands are suddenly clumsy._

_“Do what?” Seth grunts._

_Roman heaves a heavy sigh and digs in his many pockets for a field dressing. “If you can’t keep going, we’re calling for an evac.”_

_“It’s a **scratch** , Roman.”_

_“Figured you’d say that. Stubborn bitch.” Roman presses their foreheads together, a relieved smile touching his mouth for a split-second. “Tactical choice, right? It’s not like you could carry me.”_

_“Dunno’ what you’re talking about, Reigns. I tripped you accidentally.” Seth smirks at him and Roman rolls his eyes._


	61. Chapter Sixty-One: Coreigns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Action Movie AU Asks: Which one caught feelings first?

_Baron knows it isn’t his fault. It **can’t** be his fault that the universe saw fit to send him a partner like **this** asshole. Reigns, with the hair for days and the eyes that light up when he remembers to bring him a coffee in the morning. Roman, with the unshakable faith in humanity that gets him into more trouble than he’s worth ( **Baron tells himself** ). Reigns, never far off, that **idiot** smile shining into Baron’s gray life like the sunlight he’s been grudgingly letting into his apartment as of late. Only a little at a time. But it’s better than it was before when he would just sit in the twilight of closed curtains._

_Baron rests his forehead on the steering wheel and closes his eyes tightly, feeling every inch the stupid one in this situation. Even though it’s **definitely** not his fault. “Dammit.”_


	62. Chapter Sixty-Two: The Shield

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Action Movie AU Ask: Undercover time! Who wears a fake mustache?

_Seth wiggles his nose and Roman can’t help the laughter that bursts out of him. Dean isn’t faring much better, the sight of Rollins with a blond mustache tacked on over his dark facial hair utterly riotous._

_“You look **ridiculous**.” Roman finally manages to say, “You can’t even be serious with this, oh **God** , my stomach.” _

_“I don’t see **you** trying to blend in, Mister Tribal Tattoo!” Seth huffs, swatting Roman’s wrist where his tattoo is plainly visible above the cuff of his ill-fitting dress shirt. “And you! Do you even know how to wear a cummerbund?!”_

_“Yeah, I put it on my thigh. Had to wrap it a few times, but yeah.” Dean slaps his leg._

_“ **Dean** -” Seth’s words choke off and he turns away. Roman can’t tell whether the impending explosion will be from laughter or fury._

_“Ambrose it’s…you put it around your…it’s a **cummerbund** , not a garter.” Roman tries to explain but Dean just looks confused. “I can’t even put mine on, I’m too thick. You’re probably too thin. Sorry Seth, guess you’re the only one with any luck.” Roman nudges one of the unconscious guards with his boot. “Motherfucker, do you even lift?” He grunts in annoyance._

_When Seth turns back around, he has a second mustache taped over the first one and his pistol drawn. “I’ve had **just** about enough of this shit.” His composure cracks after about two seconds and he snickers, which of **course** sets Dean and Roman off again. _

_It’s a good ten minutes before they can safely venture out to complete their mission._

_Dean ends up with the blond mustache._


	63. Chapter Sixty-Three: Ambreigns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Action Movie AU Asks: Out of ammo! Which one throws their gun and which one always has a spare clip on hand?

Dean is definitely the one throwing his gun. The weird part is that he usually has better luck throwing the damn thing than he does firing it. He leaves the shooting to Roman. Which is why he is also the one who has a spare clip or round stashed away. Dean knows that Reigns rarely misses a shot, but Roman isn’t so great when it comes to paying attention to how many shots he’s already taken. Especially if the larger man is _heated_.

 

_Ambrose whips the barrel of his pistol at the forehead of the goon trying to flank them, laughing wildly when he hears Roman swear from behind cover. He’s already reaching into his pocket and tossing the clip before Reigns can ask for it and his partner gives him a grateful nod, reloading with the fluid ease that Dean is used to._

 

“ _ **Work to do, Reigns!** ”_


	64. Chapter Sixty-Four: Ambrolleigns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Action Movie AU Asks: Who has the better one liners?

Dean is best at on-the-fly, improv ranting and Rollins is the king of smart remarks. However, they both _absolutely_ defer to Roman if something needs to have that thoughtful, extra-deep tone of badass.

 

“ _We’ve had just about enough of your asinine **bullshit** , you know that?” Roman snarls with his fingers wrapped around the villain’s throat. “So I’m gonna’ take you apart. **Slowly**. And when I’m done, **no one** will be able to put you back together.”_

 

_Dean shivers and looks over at Seth, who grins right back at him. “I love it when he’s pissed.” Ambrose admits._

 

“ _You said it, Ambrose.” Rollins agrees and Roman snorts, tossing his head but otherwise ignoring their commentary._


	65. Chapter Sixty-Five: Ambrollins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Action Movie AU Asks: Which one can get out of literally any and all restraints?

I feel like this one may be a tie. Dean has experience doing… _questionably_ legal things, so obviously he can escape a variety of questionably legal restraints. But Rollins is miles more flexible. Probably would also have the presence of mind to keep himself tensed up while he was secured so that he could relax his way out.

 

“ _I didn’t think they would hog-tie me this time, okay?” Dean grumbles, already trying to swing and wriggle his body back and forth to loosen the ropes. He hears Rollins sigh in the cell beside him._

 

“ _I’ve just got zipties. I’ll be over in a sec.”_

 

“ _Oh sure, they give **you** the easy ones.”_

 

“ _Yeah, I was **unconscious**. You need to learn how to play dead, man.”_

 

“ _ **You** need to learn not to do it so convincingly.” Dean closes his eyes. “You had me scared.” Seth is quiet for a few minutes aside from a grunt of breath. “I mean shit, man, I was really worried.”_

 

“ _That’s what I love about you.” Rollins says finally. Ambrose is startled by the warmth in the other man’s tone. “Hang tight, Dean. I’m coming.”_

 

“ _Because you know my ass was going places when I’m trussed up like a piece of meat. You’d **better** be coming!”_


	66. Chapter Sixty-Six: Ambrolleigns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Action Movie AU Asks: Which one survives a killing shot to hear the embarrassing confession?

_Roman is down, he’s **down** and there’s **so** much blood and he’s not answering them. Ambrose’s fingers are shaking so hard, he can’t find a pulse and he grits his teeth against the animal noise that wants to come out of him. Rollins doesn’t have the same luck and he sounds like he’s being ripped apart, the younger man dropping his face to Roman’s motionless chest even while he continues to hold pressure on the dressing made out of Dean’s undershirt._

_“You can’t do this to us, man.” Rollins manages to choke out. “I’m telling you right fucking now Reigns, if you do this to us I’m…I’m gonna’ be so upset with you.”_

_Dean cradles Roman’s head in his lap, combing through the tangled black hair as gently as he can manage. It’s not right. Roman looks too pale, too still. Dean’s undershirt in Seth’s hands is soaked bright red and it’s not **right**. “Should have been me.” Ambrose rasps. “Should have been me, I was always so fuckin’ reckless.”_

_“ **Fuck** you, Ambrose, it should have been **me!** Them! **Anyone** except him!” Seth explodes furiously. “Anyone except him, Jesus fucking Christ, Roman…”_

_Dean swallows hard and kisses Roman’s forehead, then reaches for Seth’s hand. “I loved him.” Ambrose confesses quietly. Seth keens and buries his face again, bloodied fingers clinging to Dean’s. That’s all the answer Ambrose needs. “ **We** loved him.” Seth nods his head into Roman’s chest, his breathing hitching. “This is the shittiest way to do this, Roman. We’re…we’re so sorry.”_

_Roman suddenly coughs and Seth almost lets up on the bandage pressure, startled beyond belief. “R-Ro?!”_

_“ **Ow**.” Reigns mutters, his fingers covering Seth and Dean’s hands on his wound. “Ugh, fuck.”_

_“He’s **alive** , Dean!” Seth proclaims like Ambrose doesn’t have Roman’s head in his lap. Relief sucker punches Dean in the gut and he’s laughing breathlessly at how put out Reigns looks._

_“You guys could have said that stuff **before** we were in a life or death situation, y'know.” Roman groans, making the other men freeze. “Pulling me out of my grave just so I can say I love you too. **Both** of you. Now call the **fucking** medics. This is…this is a lot of blood that’s not in me anymore. Kinda’ woozy.”_


	67. Chapter Sixty-Seven: Coreigns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Action Movie AU Asks: Undercover time! Who wears a fake mustache?, Which one can get out of literally any and all restraints? and Which one survives a killing shot to hear the embarrassing confession?

Roman has been _waiting_ for this day since he made it through the academy. He shaves, moisturizes and carefully prepares his face for the glorious opportunity this assignment gifted him. A real, honest-to-goodness infiltration mission, complete with disguises!

 

_Baron busting a gut over his new facial hair isn’t something he’d planned on and Roman feels a little of his enthusiasm ebb away. Until Baron smooths a finger over the horseshoe that frames his mouth and grins at him. “It’s good, but it’s no you, Reigns. The goatee was **way** better.”_

 

_“I…th-thanks, Corbin.”_

* * *

 

 

Baron Corbin, long of limb and quick of temper, is a self-proclaimed expert in the art of not being restrained in the first place. On the odd occasion when he _is_ , however, he’s got a bit of a hang-up about it. Not being able to move the way he wants to has him flying off the handle in record time.

 

_He doesn’t consider it **panicking** , not really, Baron has never panicked in his life. _

 

_He may flail. A little. He’s gone dark a few times while he was trapped in this little hole and every time he wakes back up he feels like the walls have gotten even closer, like his hands have been tied even tighter. **Claustrophobia** , someone had said once, and he scoffed at them._

 

_Now though, he’s having a hard time keeping his breathing in check and he feels like he’s going to grind his teeth into powder in between insulting the men who bagged him. A body crash-lands beside his own and the muffled groan sounds familiar. “Reigns?” Baron has to swallow a few times, his throat dry from yelling abuse at his captors._

 

_“Yeah.” Reigns sounds annoyed. “Now get over here so we can get out, been looking for you for **days**.” Baron shifts closer and after a second he feels hands working on the knots around his wrists. _

 

_“Are you doing that shit **behind** your back?” Baron finally asks, craning his neck to look over his shoulder._

 

_“Ain’t no other way to do it, man.”_

 

_“That’s it, you’re my permanent partner from now on.”_

 

_“Gosh, what an honor.” Baron can hear the smile in Roman’s voice and it’s…nice._

* * *

_“End of the line, big guy? I didn’t think you would go this way.” Roman’s doing his best to keep his voice steady, holding tight to Baron’s slack hand. “You…shit Baron, if there was one fucking thing I could redo in life, I would have…I wish I’d told you…” He trails off and squeezes Baron’s hand again, wiping at his eyes. “Look, it doesn’t matter anymore, okay? It doesn’t matter. The–the medics will be here any second and…and you–”_

 

_Roman stops, a sob stealing his words away, and he scoops Baron up bodily, crushing the other man’s face into his chest. He cradles him for what feels like an eternity, motionless except for the heave of his shoulders._

 

_“Should have told you. Such a f-f-fuckin’ bitch about it. Know you would have given me shit but you d-deserved to know before something like this happened.” Roman finally mumbles, He doesn’t really want to open his eyes again but eventually he does, and he’s met with the sight of Baron staring back at him with a glazed expression. “How you doing, big guy?” Roman whispers, sure he’s witnessing that last rally he’s heard so much about._

 

_Baron clears his throat. “Thirsty.” He squints up at Roman. “Why’re y’ cryin’?”_

 

_“It’s…don’t worry about that now. Am I hurting you?”_

 

_“Nah. Had worse than you wrapped around me.” Baron’s head lolls back for a minute. “ **God** , my ears are fuckin’ ringing. Woo, how bad is it?”_

 

_“ **No**! No, don’t look. Leave the vest zipped.” Roman insists, catching Baron’s hand when the other man shakily goes to undo his bulletproof vest. Reigns is pretty sure that’s the only thing keeping him together at this point._

 

_“That bad? You sure it’s not the ketchup packets I tucked in there before the fight?” Corbin tries to joke but neither of them laugh._

 

_“Maybe if you squirreled away a whole **bottle** of ketchup.” Roman shakes his head._

 

_“Were you saying something while I was out? Caught little…bits and pieces.” Baron’s eyes keep closing. “Gotta’ get a thing or two off your chest, Reigns? Because if…if this is actually where I check out man, it’s been a hell of a ride.” Baron squeezes his hand and offers him a rare, exhausted smile. “Two days left ‘til retirement.”_

 

_“I love you, Baron.” Roman blurts out. “I’m sorry I never told you. I’m sorry I only manned up now when you’re fucking **bleeding out** and everything has gone to shit, I just…I didn’t want to ruin our friendship, or make you think I’m weird or…I don’t know. It all seems so dumb now.” Roman knocks their foreheads together and goes silent. His face is hot with embarrassment and tears and he feels like he’s going to be sick to his stomach._

 

_“S'okay man.” Baron’s eyes slowly drift shut as medics and police officers pour into the room. “Love you too, anyhow. You and your dumb smiles and shit…”_

 


	68. Chapter Sixty-Eight: Diesel (And Kimberly)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Action Movie AU Asks: Who has the better one liners?

[What Kimberly Is From](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8877622/chapters/20352820)

 

If he’s had time to think on it? Diesel for sure. As far as quick comebacks go though, Kimberly has him beat. Sometimes he gets one up on her and while he finds it pretty satisfying, he also makes sure to soften the blow with a lightning fast kiss before she can realize she’s supposed to be irritated with him. It usually works.

 

_“I love you, sweetheart.” He says softly, ducking a little so he can smile at her._

_It appears to have not worked this time around as she huffs and glares up at him. Diesel tries again, cupping her face this time so he can liberally pepper her with kisses. She finally starts laughing and pushes him away. “You’re such an **ass**.” _

_“I’m pretty sure we already… **ass** -tablished that.”_

_“ **Kevin**.”_

_“What? It’s not like I snuck in the… **rear** with that one.”_

_“Oh my **God**.”_


	69. Chapter Sixty-Nine: The Shield

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Action Movie AU Asks: Who always has ‘just one more weapon’?

One hundred percent Dean Ambrose, not a shadow of a doubt about it.

_“They took everything we had, man.” Roman shifts uncomfortably, flexing his hands in their bonds. “Wish they’d let us keep our pants. Floor’s cold through my boxers.”_

_“Dean, you’ve been awfully quiet.” Seth mutters after a few seconds of silence go by. “You okay?”_

_Ambrose glances up at the camera and begins the long, slow process of shuffling himself over into the corner beneath it. Once he’s out of the camera’s sight, he opens his mouth and sticks his tongue out._

_“What the fuck?!” Seth squawks at the sight of the tiny, half-folded blade on Dean’s tongue._

_Ambrose winks, a little blood dripping down his chin when he drops the knife to the floor where he can scoop it up with his bound hands. He deftly flicks it open the rest of the way. “Hard to talk with my mouth full. Didn’t wanna’ ventilate my dimples.”_

_“And **this** is why we love Dean, because you sure as hell didn’t learn that skill at the academy.” Roman grins up at the camera. “They won’t know what hit them.”_


	70. Chapter Seventy: Breezango

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Action Movie AU Asks: Who would take that perfect shot at the villain?

_It had been Tyler’s idea from the beginning._

_If there is one thing Fandango can appreciate in the other man, besides his devastating good looks and incredible sense of style, it is the amount of **time** and **effort** he puts into crafting his plans. Breeze leaves no stone unturned, no shirttail untucked. _

_Which is how they end up standing in the studio, the perpetrator that they had been stalking for **months** posing mere feet away. _

_Dressed to kill, of course._

_Tyler steadies the camera while Fandango adjusts the lighting. “Ready for your head shots, sir?” Breeze asks politely, quirking an eyebrow at Fandango over his sleek sunglasses. “I know we are.”_


	71. Chapter Seventy-One: Rolleigns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Action Movie AU Asks: Which one caught feelings first?, Which one has the tragic past? and Who wakes up with the other person’s jacket draped over them?

_Roman doesn’t want to be **that** guy, but it’s hard to work with the same person every day. Especially if that same person is a **little** younger than you and a **little** on the obnoxious side. And a **little** too muscular for their own good. Roman knows his own heart better than anyone else and spends a good portion of every shift sternly reminding himself that there are regulations for a reason, opposites do not necessarily attract and the stars aren’t going to align just because he’s got some silly emotional nonsense in his head._

_That would be stupid._

* * *

 

_Seth’s a funny enough guy, but he’s like his **shadow** ninety-five percent of the time and it makes Roman feel like he’s always inches away from tripping over him. He knows it’s probably just how Rollins operates; guy’s weirdly light on his feet for being a wall of muscle. Almost like he’s used to being quiet._

_The full gravity of the situation only hits Reigns when Rollins is shaking in the passenger seat of their cruiser because he accidentally dropped the other man’s coffee cup. Seth’s face is buried in his own folded arms as he tries to explain and Roman just pets his hair, doesn’t really smile but **definitely** doesn’t frown, that would be rude and **apparently** Seth has been through more than enough. _

_Roman chalks up wanting to **kill** whoever was responsible for breaking his partner so thoroughly as a…a **justice** thing. It’s nothing personal, of course. _

_‘That would be stupid’ is starting to feel like a mantra._

* * *

 

_Seth yawns and stretches, the momentary disorientation fading as he realizes he’s in one of the bunks at the station. An unfamiliar jacket is covering him and he blearily tugs on a sleeve until he can see the name patch. Hopefully he’s been drooling on his own gear._

_**REIGNS** it says, the gold thread of the letters a little faded. Seth’s brow furrows for a moment, then he shrugs and settles back down into the unforgiving cot beneath him. At least it’s warm and soft over his shoulders._


	72. Chapter Seventy-Two: The Shield

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Action Movie AU Asks: Who’s the badass and who’s the kidnap fodder? and Who wakes up with the other person’s jacket draped over them?

_Roman Reigns can be very…Seth doesn’t want to say **stupid** , stupid is too harsh. Roman Reigns is very **trusting**. Roman Reigns will see the good in a person whether it’s actually there or not. _

_“Roman got himself kidnapped. Again.”_

_There’s a heavy sigh on the other end of the phone line. “This is the second time this **week** Rollins-”_

_“I know, Ambrose. But he’s our boy. And he’s probably outnumbered by baddies. What if he gets hurt?”_

_“Fuck, man, you don’t have to guilt trip me. Pants are gettin’ put on. I’ll be down in five, keep the door open for me.”_

* * *

 

_Sometimes Rollins gets the two jacket treatment after they’ve had a tough night of saving the day and he falls asleep in the backseat. But Ambrose constantly gets two jackets because Ambrose is the one who passes out standing up._

_Dean is the one who forgets to sleep because he’s focused, forgets to eat because he’s exhausted. Running on nothing but the black coffee in his stomach and the knowledge that his partners are close by. Innocent lives are at stake every second and whether he’s on or off the clock has never mattered that much to Ambrose._

_He gets bundled up in the two jackets because a lot of times it’s the closest thing to a hug that Reigns and Rollins can give him. Dean hurts a little **too** deep to be as effective as he could be at his job, but according to Roman his empathy is what makes him a thousand times better than a multitude of other guys in their field. _

_Normally all that means to Dean is that he sits in the passenger seat of the truck and tucks his face down into the combined warmth of jackets, lets the material absorb the tears that manage to escape._

_He’s woken up in the same position, Reigns still hasn’t **totally** mastered the art of lifting his lanky frame, but Seth is usually there and he just pulls the jackets up a little higher, humming quietly. Soon enough Dean drifts back off and he knows when he wakes up that his brothers will be there, they’ll get breakfast and head back out because their work is never **quite** done._


	73. Chapter Seventy-Three: Diesel (And Kimberly)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Action Movie AU Asks: Who would take that perfect shot at the villain? and Which one can get out of literally any and all restraints?

_They have Kimberly. They have Kimberly and for the first time since puberty graced him with its presence Diesel feels **terrified** , helpless. His size isn’t going to do him much good in hostage negotiations but he’ll be damned if he’s going to just stand by and twiddle his thumbs. _

_Going in guns blazing may not have been his smartest move._

_Diesel is a huge man. He’s not an angry man, but if he’s provoked he knows he’s not capable of being easily restrained. Diesel has thrown six men off of him like they were rag dolls. The only difference this time is that the restraints aren’t physical._

_The guy has a gun to Kimberly’s head and Diesel feels like he’s been punched in the stomach. He’s never seen her look more terrified in all their time working together and he **immediately** tosses his gun to the side, puts his hands on the back of his head and drops to his knees. “Let her go. You can take me instead.” Diesel isn’t asking and the guy knows it._

_“Kevin!” Kimberly’s voice cracks, tears streaming down her face as she wriggles in the grip of the man holding her._

_Diesel knows he should emotionally detach himself from this but he can’t bring himself to, attempting to smile at her in a reassuring manner. “It’s alright, sweetheart. It’ll be okay.” He knows he shouldn’t use the pet name but he does anyway._

_Most of his career before her was spent doing as many dangerous things as possible. Now that he had her, he wasn’t going to let some **bullshit** protocols keep him from enjoying the one good thing in his life. _

_“He didn’t hurt you, right?” He narrows his eyes when she shakes her head. “I’ll break every bone in his body if he did.”_

_“Hey, you and I are fuckin’ talking right now!” The guy seems annoyed that Diesel is essentially ignoring him, his gun now trained on the large man in front of him. Which is exactly what Diesel wants. He knows if he looks he would see Kimberly weaseling her hands out of whatever they had tied her up with this time, ‘big wrists, small hands’ a la Billy The Kid._

_**I’ll make you famous**. _

_Diesel smirks to himself. “You couldn’t get your own, huh? Had to try and steal my partner. Not that I’m surprised. You assholes are all the same, **spineless**.”_

_“Fuck you man, you’re-!” The guy doesn’t get the opportunity to finish his tirade because Kimberly is free, and with one sharp blow to his wrist the guy’s gun is hers. Before Diesel can exhale in relief she’s emptying the clip into the guy’s stomach._

_“Kevin?” She says when she’s done, the gun clicking uselessly in her grip. Diesel knows that tone, that’s a **kill** tone and he’s more than happy to oblige. If the guy isn’t dead yet. _

_“You got it, sweetheart.” He grabs the guy around the waist. He knows it’s overkill but he really doesn’t give a single damn. In one brutally fluid motion he hoists him up into the air and then brings his body crashing down on the cement floor, the back of the guy’s head hitting the ground with enough force to shatter his skull._

_No one gets back up from a Jackknife Powerbomb if Diesel has anything to say about it._

_“What **took** you so long?” Kimberly says, sounding exasperated._

_Diesel shrugs, pulling her into his arms and tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “He had almost twenty guys guarding the door. I ain’t that good, Kimberly.”_

_“Psh, I’ve seen you take on more.”_

_“Yeah, but I didn’t know how much time I had. I was worried.” Diesel closes his eyes and touches his forehead to hers. “I’m not letting you out of my sight again. You get into too much trouble on your own.”_

_“ **You’re** one to talk!”_

_“Damn right I am.”_


	74. Chapter Seventy-Four: The Shield (And Jackie)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Action Movie AU Asks: Who has the better one liners?

[What Jackie Comes From](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12301668)

 

Dean has them all totally _owned_. He has to stay sharp for the sake of his friends.

 

_“If I wanted your opinion, I’d ask for it!” Seth yells at Ambrose after the other man tells him to get into cover. It’s an intelligent move, a logical one-_

_“And if **I** wanted to get hollered at, I’d call Roman’s mom and tell her I hadn’t eaten anything today!” Dean snaps right back, his whole demeanor bristling with annoyance._

_“If **either** of you gave a shit, you would pay attention to the **goons trying to kill us!** ” Roman shouts over their bickering, sidearm giving a warning click as he comes up empty. “Jackie, a little help?”_

_“If you guys don’t knock it off, Chief Shane O’ Mac is gonna’ find out about what you did to his favorite pair of sneakers!” Jackie threatens from her own spot behind cover, unable to keep from laughing as Dean shoves Seth lower and fires wildly in the direction of the men pinning them down._

_“Jesus Jackie, we’ll be good! No need for blackmail!”_


	75. Chapter Seventy-Five: The Shield

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Action Movie AU Asks: Which one has the tragic past?

_Dean doesn’t like to talk about what’s happened to him. He knows everyone has their… **issues** , the things that scratch and scrape at their insides until it’s unbearable. He doesn’t need to talk about it. Every time he does crack a little bit, he feels like he’s just grubbing his partners for attention or sympathy and he **hates** that. He knows Roman has trouble sleeping after domestic dispute calls, he knows Seth gets weepy if there’s cases involving little kids._

_But Seth keeps **slamming** the door of the cruiser one day, he’s pissed about something petty and Dean can’t handle it anymore. He feels like he’s going to crawl out of his skin and he finally explodes, “ **Stop it!** ”_

_Rollins halts immediately, looking startled. “Sorry Dean, I was just-”_

_“I can’t take that shit, Rollins! Can’t fucking take it! I’ve been good, man, I’ve been **so** good, but I can’t handle that noise!” Dean wants to curl up into a ball, twitching all over. _

_Slowly, carefully (and Roman is **always** so damn careful), Reigns closes his own door and reaches for Dean’s hand. “Breathe.” He directs and Ambrose is confused for a second, before he realizes he’s been holding his breath, waiting for the clatter of keys on a kitchen table that’s long gone, waiting for that loud voice shouting his name. “Breathe, Ambrose. You’re safe.”_

_“I know.” Dean says weakly when he can talk again, when his muscles have loosened enough for him to speak._

_Seth’s soft apology is unexpected, but Ambrose appreciates it all the same._


	76. Chapter Seventy-Six: Zowens/Steenerico

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Action Movie AU Asks: Which one has the tragic past?

_Sami wishes that Kevin would just be honest with him, the red-haired man sighing heavily as Kevin wallops the punching bag over and over. “What did he say?”_

_“It’s not important.” Owens grunts._

_“Kevin.”_

_“No.”_

_“ **Kevin**.”_

_“ **No**.”_

_“I just want to-”_

_“He brought up some shit about my old partner, okay?!” Kevin snaps. His rhythm falters and Sami’s brow furrows. He’d never heard about an **old partner** of Kevin’s! “Jericho needs to keep his mouth shut about Generico.”_

_“What happened to him?”_

_“He died.” Kevin replies shortly. Then, grudgingly, he continues, “Kinda’ looked like you. Y'know, dumb. Goofy smile.”_

_“Were you friends?”_

_“Nicest son of a bitch I’d ever met, until I found you.”_

_Sami doesn’t miss the way Owens avoids answering his question._


	77. Chapter Seventy-Seven: Bo Dallas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Action Movie AU Asks: Heart to heart time! On the battlefield or on the way to the final showdown?

_Bo swallows hard, looks over their equipment for the thousandth time. His heart is absolutely in his throat as he shoots her another glance. She’s strapped in opposite him, her fists clenched loosely on her thighs._

_This could be his only chance. They’re alone in the cab, separated from the driver by a thick wall of armored steel._

_“Hey, I…” Bo pauses when she looks up. She always manages to do that, turn whatever he was about to say into an incoherent tangle in his brain with a glance. “I-I’m…uh, sorry.”_

_“Sorry?” She repeats in confusion. “For what?”_

_“Not saying this earlier. I…the way that you work is **amazing**. You’re always so cool under pressure, you’ve got the best aim out of anyone I’ve ever seen and I just…I mean **gosh** , if we had more guys like you the enemy might as well surrender on the spot.” It feels so good to finally gush a little. “The best part is how nice you are though! You’re super kind and sweet and funny and beautiful and it’s been such an honor to serve with you.” He’s a touch out of breath, but he feels like it’s worth it when he sees how hard she’s blushing._

_“Well Dallas, if we get out of this in one piece, I think I’d like to hear more of your **observations**.” She smirks at him. “If you’re interested, of course.”_

_Bo grins right back, his stomach doing excited backflips. “You’d better believe it!”_


	78. Chapter Seventy-Eight: Seth Rollins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Action Movie AU Asks: Which one caught feelings first?”, “Which one has the tragic past?“, “Which one survives a killing shot to hear the embarrassing confession?”, “Who wakes up with the other person’s jacket draped over them?” and “Who initiates…The Kiss?”

_You look so small in the hospital bed._

_Seth drags a hand down his face, trying to hang onto his deteriorating composure as he scoots the uncomfortable chair even closer to the bed. “Hey jerk.” He says quietly. “Nurse says you’re still under but that my yammering might do you some good. So I uh.” He clears his throat. “I remember the first time I met you, I spilled my soda down my shirt. Looked like a total loser.”_

_The memory makes him chuckle a little. You were stunning, to an almost **unfair** level, you’d caught his attention mid-sip and he’d ended up dumping half a bottle of some drink onto the front of his uniform. _

_“It was…uh, I guess I can say this because, y'know, you can’t hear me.” Seth takes your hand, carefully avoiding the IV. “I thought you were the most beautiful person I’d ever seen.” He murmurs, rubbing at one of his eyes. The exhaustion is starting to set in. It feels like he’s been awake for **days**. “It’s dumb and **incredibly** shallow, but when we got assigned together I felt like I had won the jackpot. I’ve gotten past a lot of garbage in my life. A lot of hurdles, unfair bullshit. I kinda’ hoped the universe had sent me a smoking hot partner as the beginning of a legendary good karma cash in.” _

_Seth shakes his head at himself. How self-centered could he be, really?_

_“I was stupid. Careless. I would tease you and prod you but you took it all in stride. You had something to prove and I respected the hell out of that. Especially when we dealt with **that** case, the girl, you remember. You told me afterwards what had happened to you, why you signed up for this stuff in the first place, and you had this expression on your face that screamed ‘I will absolutely break you if you interrupt me you fucking idiot’.” Seth shrugs. “So I didn’t. I started listening more after that. Wanted to learn, I guess. Wanted to be better at what we do.”_

_The back of his neck starts to twinge and Rollins kneads the old injury absently, closing his eyes._

_“I was on the scene first when we got the call, a step ahead of the medics. Wish you’d waited for me, **jerk**. You were on the ground, all crumpled up and I…” Seth pauses. “There was a lot of blood. EMT said you’d taken some uh. Significant. Punishment.” He wasn’t sure if he’d ever get the image of you lying there out of his head. “Look, you can’t do this to me again, okay?” He pleads suddenly. “I don’t think I can handle doing this shit more than like…once a year. Preferably once a lifetime. I don’t know what I’d do…”_

* * *

_Everything is sore. You want to open your eyes but they feel too heavy. You can hear your partner talking, his voice slurred and raspy with exhaustion as he rambles about finding you. Something warm and soft tucks around your shoulders and you sigh, dozing back off to the sound of Seth mumbling, “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”_

_When you wake up the next morning, your eyes are easier to open. Rollins has fallen asleep beside your bed, his head tilted back and mouth agape. His thick hoodie is lying on top of the hospital blanket at your shoulders and you struggle to sit up, saying his name._

_He starts awake, looking bleary for a moment. “Jerk!” He says gladly once he seems to have regained his footing, bolting upright to help you sit. “Stay put, I don’t think you’re supposed to be moving yet.” He presses a cup to your lips. “Drink, you must be dry.”_

_“Have you been here this whole time?” You ask after a few thirsty gulps of water. Seth nods, not meeting your eyes as he puts the cup back down. “Why?”_

_“Shit, you **really** have to ask?” He grumbles. “Harsh.” His eyes search your own, the blatant concern there surprising to you. “You scared the hell out of me. Can’t be pulling these bullshit stunts if we’re going to stay partners, got it?” Seth’s voice quivers and your fingers catch the neck of his t-shirt before he can pull away._

_“I’ll make it up to you.” You promise, kissing him and smiling when he sputters. “I could get used to someone worrying about me.”_

_“No shortage of that. Jerk.”_


	79. Chapter Seventy-Nine: Jon Moxley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Action Movie AU Asks: Heart to heart time! On the battlefield or on the way to the final showdown? starring Kitten!Mox.

_“I have to tell ya’ somethin’!” Mox is yelling before his brain really knows what’s going on, wrapping an arm around her waist and hoisting her bodily behind cover._

_She yelps, thrashing in his grip. “Jon! We have to-”_

_“They’ll wait for thirty seconds. This shit’s fuckin’ important.” He grunts, grabbing her shoulders. “More important than those douchebags.”_

_“Well, what is it?” She asks crossly, her hands on her hips as she glares at him._

_“Look, I didn’t mean what I said earlier, okay? I get it. Ya’ like you some Kiefer Sutherland and that’s fine. But you **cannot** be fuckin’ serious when ya’ say ya’ liked him the most in The Three fuckin’ Musketeers-”_

_“ **Jon**!”_

_“-because movies like The Lost Boys exist and I can’t fuckin’ wrap my head around ya’ not appreciatin’ the vintage-”_

_“You **cannot** be serious right now!” She screams._

_“-Sutherland and yeah, this is actually a front, I’m tryin’ to apologize an’ I’m doin’ it all fuckin’ wrong.” Mox admits, kissing her hard immediately after he’s done speaking._

_“Hey lovebirds! You gonna’ stand there suckin’ face all fuckin’ day or you gonna’ help me lay down some cover fire?!” Callihan shouts, obviously annoyed._

_“I’ll show **you** suckin’ f-” Mox is cut off by Kitten kissing him back just as hard._

_“Apology accepted.” She breathes when she pulls away, giving him that smile and Mox knows he’s forgiven. He chuckles and presses his forehead to hers._

_“Thanks for puttin’ up with me, Kitten.”_


	80. Chapter Eighty: Hugging Headcanons, Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hugging headcanons! How do they hug? Got this into my head the other day and it grew into a monster. Keep in mind, of course, that this is not an attack on anyone if you don’t see them on this list! All it means is that I don’t know them well enough or I simply haven’t thought about them hugging. I apologize if anyone feels left out.

**Baron Corbin:** Private hugger. A “tell anyone about this and I’ll kill you” hugger. He reserves his hugs exclusively for people that matter to him. A person outright _asking_ for a hug will dramatically decrease their chances of getting a hug, which has led to his hugs being labeled as a good luck charm of sorts. His selectiveness is thrown out the window if the person has a small animal in their arms, though then the embrace is merely a ruse to take said animal.

* * *

**Bayley:** Extremely enthusiastic hugger. Hugs with her whole body. Will almost always ask before hugging, because she knows that sometimes people _don’t_ want to be hugged. Long hugs, but never too long. Will rumple the person’s hair afterwards if she is familiar with them, and always asks if they feel better.

* * *

**Bo Dallas:** More of a thumbs-up guy, but he’ll humor a request if he gets one. Doesn’t know where to put his hands and usually rests his cheek on the other person’s head. Tries to puff out his chest a little so he seems larger and more cuddly, as he’s heard that’s vital to hugging.

* * *

**Braun Strowman:** Since he’s so tall, he’s definitely a side-hugger. Less bending that way. But if he can tell the person really, _really_ needs it, he’ll go with the full bear hug. He’s always very careful to turn the other person’s head to the side so they don’t end up crushing their nose against his chest. Will stroke their hair in an almost comically delicate manner.

* * *

**Dean Ambrose:** Does not hug often. The person has to be very important to him and look very in-need of a hug. Long hugger, but twitchy. Usually tries to mumble something comforting while hugging, and he does the pat on the back thing. Keeps a running tally in his head of whether he was the first person to pull away last time, so he doesn’t do it twice in a row.

* * *

**Jon Moxley:** Rough, tackle-style hugger. Side-hugs are longer than full-on hugs, usually ending with his hand in the other person’s back pocket while they have a conversation. Will bite playfully at an article of clothing mid-hug, or hug a little too tightly. Sometimes has difficulty deciding whether his hug is an attack, a sign of affection or both.

* * *

**Leakee:** Does not hug outside of his family and very close friends. All-encompassing hugger, and will rest his hand on the back of the person’s head. Will clasp hands or bump fists if he is unfamiliar with the person, instead of the standard handshake.

* * *

**Roman Reigns:** Long hugger. Sometimes awkwardly long. Always puts his arms beneath the arms of the person he’s hugging regardless of height or weight, because he prefers when _they_ have to cling to _him_. He will substitute a gentle headbutt depending on the situation or time constraints. 

* * *

**Sami Callihan:** Seems almost clairvoyant when it comes to hugs because he knows exactly when they’re needed. Full-body hugger. Usually rests his cheek on the person’s shoulder and one hand goes to the nape of their neck. If he knows the person well, he will occasionally hoist a leg up around their hip to make them laugh or get them to push him off. Will never be the first one to pull away.

* * *

**Sami Zayn:** A “do you need a hug?” hugger. Even if he doesn’t know the person well, he’s all for wrapping them up in his arms. Rocks back and forth while humming, which he tends to use as a dancing segue to lighten the mood. If he doesn’t think that will work, he just stays quiet and strokes the person’s hair.

* * *

**Samoa Joe:** When he’s not trying to kill the person, very careful bear hugger. Always mindful of any injuries. He’s well aware of how strong he is and, while he’s confident in his own control, he understands that accidents happen. If he knows the person well and knows that they trust him, he will slide a hand to the back of their neck and may leave it there during a conversation or stroll.

* * *

**Seth Rollins:** Side hugger. A “c’mere” kind of hugger. He thinks he’s not particularly ‘good’ at hugging so he tries to keep it to a minimum. A quick arm around the shoulders, a tug into his side and then he’s on his way. Will give a kiss on the head if he and the other person are close, though.

* * *

**Shane McMahon:** Bro hugger. A slap on the shoulder blade kind of hugger. He’s more prone to fistbumping but he understands that sometimes a situation will call for a bit more delicacy. Can be stiff with people he doesn’t know, despite the warmth of his handshakes. Worries about where to put his hands and is almost always the first one to pull away. 

* * *

**Triple H:** Grapple-style hugger. If the person had a chiropractor appointment later in the day they can cancel it, because Trips will straighten out every misaligned vertebrae within ten seconds. If he knows the person very well, he’ll pick them up off the floor when he hugs them. Usually rests his forearm at the small of the person’s back while his other arm goes around their shoulders, holding them as tight as he can without popping their ribs.


	81. Chapter Eighty-One: Finn Bálor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place right before the great meningitis outbreak of 2017.

“ _We’re not so different, you and I_.”

 

The eye began to open when Wyatt first spoke to him, his tone dripping with poison and condescending snickering. Bálor mostly found him irritating, dismissing him quickly.

 

“ _We’re not so different, you and I_.”

 

Bálor was of the impression that if you had to say things like that, you were doubtless _very_ different from the person you were speaking to. There was the obvious threat, of course, Bray trying to draw attention to the fact that neither of them had a body of their own. Rather, the thing occupying Bray’s _skin_ , the thing that called itself Wyatt. Finn had accepted his burden at a very young age, seeming almost eager to take on the responsibilities of a vessel. Bray, unfortunately, appeared to have moments of terrified lucidity which would cost him his matches more often than not.

 

The offering of false blood was the last straw. Whatever lived in Bray’s skin obviously had no regard for the life and limb of its host. It knew _exactly_ what Bálor was and yet it persisted in this ultimate insult, this mockery. Clearly, despite all its _posturing_ , it was young to this world. Because nothing old would dare to rattle his cage like this.

 

Normally Bálor would ignore it. Normally, he was above this kind of pointless garbage. He had dealt with many a new generation demanding proof of his power. This was nothing new. Normally he would ignore it.

 

It was the offering, the bathing of their body in a sham of blood that truly roused the demon. Bálor was usually more than content to rest, but the red pouring over their head woke old, dark memories. When humanity feared him and made sacrifices aplenty to quell his wrath, lest plagues and calamity strike them.

 

Wyatt made no gesture of repentance as he pontificated over the mortal body Bálor resided in, that accent rolling and twitching with the gritty voice of something that wasn’t quite settled.

 

Bálor seethed, his fury smoldering as he let the idiot speak. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter.

 

There was a woman, timid and shy, who followed Bray like a shadow. Always one step behind the damnation-spouting, self-righteous Wyatt, always curled up like she was waiting for a blow to land. No one seemed to pay her any mind.

 

Bálor noticed with a touch of amusement that Finn sometimes wondered if he was the only one that could see her. _Abigail_ was what Wyatt called her, _Sister Abigail_. Along with such endearments as “ _my love_ ,” and “ _my beauty_ ,” always possessive, _mineminemine_. She gave him no response and it made Wyatt blind with rage. Bálor had witnessed more than one locker room tantrum, the bearded man slamming his fists into lockers and yelling about how she had “ _made him do it_.”

 

_She was nothing but his scapegoat_ , Bálor realized one day, _a different kind of vessel, but a vessel all the same_. Bray poured his hate into her, his fear and self-loathing and she had obviously wasted away to nearly nothing under the burden of it.

 

Wyatt wanted to fight Bálor, Bray wanted to cower. The two of them were constantly at odds and poor Abigail was caught in the middle. Finn was fond of her, of course he was. She was waifish and pale and _sympathy_ would be his downfall. Bálor had no idea how many times he had warned his vessel, but it didn’t matter. His caring nature was one of the reasons Bálor had selected him in the first place. Finn was friendly and kind, he made life _miles_ easier for the slumber-prone Bálor. Let the eye close, let the demon rest. It had been countless years since Bálor had felt the need to pay attention, usually drifting from vessel to vessel with little regard for what the humans were doing _this_ time.

 

Truly he hadn’t been this mentally present since the early occupation of Her fourth green field, and it had Bálor… _curious_.

 

“ _Why stay?_ ” Finn asked Abigail one day, ignoring the way Wyatt caterwauled angrily at him for speaking to her.

 

“ _I have nowhere else to go_.” She answered him softly, plainly.

 

So it was something darker. Something deeper. Bray was in over his head and he had become a vessel, with runoff that he didn’t understand. Murder, not a willing occupation. Arcane arts, twisted to his own selfish gains. Finn pondered the dilemma and Bálor just did his best to ignore it.

 

Until the crowning insult, the anointing, false offering, unclean, _liarliarliar!_ that sealed Wyatt’s fate.

 

_Fire had plagued Wyatt before, and fire would plague him again_ , Bálor decided as Finn cleansed their body of the fake blood, _but fire of a different sort_. Fire in the blood, wavering lights that burned Bray’s eyes and turned his fireflies against him. Convulsions while the fever dug fiery talons into his mind.

 

_Nothing serious_ , the doctors said, and Bálor chuckled because it _was_ serious, so very serious. _Nothing serious_ , Wyatt was losing his grip on his vessel; more and more of his strength was sloughed off into Abigail. An unexpected benefit, and one that Bálor hoped would prove useful in the future. Because if she grew stronger, if she could leave, maybe Bálor could have peace and quiet once again.

 

_Meningitis_ , the doctors said, and Bálor sat back and watched while Wyatt’s power trickle turned into a flood. _Meningitis_ , as though it made Bálor less potent. It didn’t matter what name the humans had for it this time around. Just another specialty of his, fire in the veins that drove the afflicted to their bed.

 

Wyatt would pay dearly for his insult. Bálor tore him out of Bray’s haggard body on the eve of what was supposed to be a great clash, an epic settling of the score. But both Bálor _and_ Finn cared very little about the spectacle. It was _respect_ Bálor craved, and as he crushed Wyatt under his heel Bray’s fever broke.

 

He was appeased with an old friend of Finn’s in the ring for the precious _pageantry_ of the masses, the eye sliding shut again once they set Styles to rights.

 

Finn offered Abigail an exhausted grin and a wave, laughing when she smiled wanly back at him before vanishing. _I have somewhere else to go_.

 

“ _We’re not so different, you and I_.”

 

_We'll see about that_ .

 


	82. Chapter Eighty-Two: Hugging Headcanons, Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hugging headcanons! How do they hug, Tag Team edition! (Keep in mind, of course, that this is not an attack on anyone if you don’t see them on this list! All it means is that I don’t know them well enough or I simply haven’t thought about them hugging. I apologize if anyone feels left out.)

**The Ascension:** Konnor is leery of essentially everyone and Viktor shares in his wariness to a point. Getting a hug from The Ascension is regarded as a nearly spiritual experience, due to the incredible rarity of such an event. Planets must align, stars must be in the proper position, et cetera. If push comes to shove, Konnor prefers to tap foreheads and Viktor is known to gently squeeze shoulders. They _are_ fond of ‘accidentally’ smearing their paints on the recipient of affection, as though to mark them.

* * *

 

**The Bar:** Cesaro and Sheamus are inclined to draping arms around people’s shoulders and walking with them as they chat. This can get dicey if one man decides to go in a different direction, as they then ‘bicker’ forcefully with one another over the unlucky individual’s head. Lately though, they’ve come to blows less and less. They still fight, of course, but it’s mostly trash talking.

* * *

 

**The B Team:** Curtis and Bo have done their best to make it clear that they don’t need anyone else. They’re perfectly content being a dynamic duo and if you think otherwise, you’re wrong! That’s not to say they’re cold though. Far from it, really. It just takes a little while for them to trust someone enough to offer them an embrace. Once a person _has_ reached that level, they will almost certainly never lose ground with The B Team. Bo and Curtis have nearly perfected their hug technique, where Bo holds the recipient in a modified sleeper from behind and Axel bear hugs them from the front.

 

…it’s still a work in progress.

* * *

 

**The Bludgeon Brothers:** Luke and Erik are not _huggers_ , per se. An arm around the shoulders, one on either side, a quick pressure and then they’re off again. They know their presence can be unsettling and Luke will go out of his way to slouch, trying to seem less large than he is. Luke is also the first to offer affection, while Erik tends to hover and wait to see if the proverbial coast is clear (the person is actually more likely to be gifted one of their coats instead of a shoulder squeeze, which makes it all the more special).

* * *

 

**The Fashion Police/Breezango:** Tyler isn’t much for _hugs_. If the person promises they won’t touch his hair (and more importantly, if Fandango believes they’ll keep their word), Tyler permits a group hug where he mostly hugs Fandango and maybe, _maybe_ brushes arms with the hug recipient. Maybe. If they’re not an offense to his senses. Or…or if they seem like they _really_ need it.

 

Maybe.

* * *

 

**The Hardy Boyz:** Matt is free and easy with his hugs, while Jeff hangs back a bit. The older of the two drags people into hugs whether they want them or not, which has led to a few awkwardly stiff embraces on his end while he prattles about how _delightful_ it all is. The younger of the two brothers prefers to rumple hair affectionately, though if he’s feeling playful (and if he’s familiar with the person) he’ll give them a goofy, paint-laden smooch on their forehead or cheek.

* * *

 

**The New Day:** Big E gives superior hugs, as one would expect, but Xavier and Kofi are vital to giving the world’s _best_ group hug. If Xavier is feeling prankish he may wrap his arm around the person’s neck to prop up Francesca, sometimes laughing too hard to actually _play_ her. Kofi usually laces one leg behind the recipient’s, the veteran overly nervous about being caught unawares even if he’s smiling the whole time. If they’re familiar with the person, the hug usually dissolves into the lucky recipient sitting happily perched on E’s broad shoulders while the three men talk amongst themselves.

* * *

 

**The Shield:** Getting drawn into a Shield hug is like being caught in the middle of a football huddle. Someone (usually Seth) is _always_ talking, there’s strategy flying overhead, hair is being mussed…it’s all very chaotic. Exceedingly heartfelt. They don’t hug unless it’s absolutely necessary. Roman’s hand lingers on shoulder blades and Seth leans more towards hips, while Dean sticks to whatever article of clothing he can catch hold of. If they know the person _very_ well, Seth will sometimes play with the ends of their hair.

* * *

 

**The Usos:** Jimmy and Jey are known for bouncing off of one another, and hugs are no exception. Whole-body hugs are the norm for the twins, which usually means the recipient is in the middle of a hug sandwich. Jey almost always breaks the hug first with a light punch to Jimmy’s shoulder, but if he decides to extend the hug he’ll continue long after Jimmy has pulled back.


	83. Eighty-Three: Ambreigns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by ‘If Only’ by Andrea Bocelli. Because I’m a giant sap. Enjoy!
> 
> [!TRIGGER WARNING!: Contains allusions to previous mental health issues and recovery periods/coping mechanisms. Stay safe!]

His biggest downfall had always been his inability to deal with emotions. Dean Ambrose knew that. It had taken him _years_ to come to terms with it. He had pushed away so many people in the time period where he didn’t know how to handle himself, didn’t know what to do when his insides started yelling and all he could think about was hitting someone.

 

He had told himself it was better to push them away. Better to make them go away before he did something even more unforgivable than simply driving them off. Even now that he had learned to manage himself properly, now that he was an adult and he had methods to help his brain stop trying to self-destruct, there was always that low-level _snap teeth_ that was in the back of his mind.

 

The reason why he was focused so hard on his progress at this point in time was the ghost from his past that was currently leaning boredly on the Starbucks pick-up counter a few customers ahead of him in line.

 

This particular ghost came with the guilty sensation in his chest. Dean hadn’t _wanted_ to scare him off, that had been his whole problem. Dean had wanted to keep him, had wanted to believe that he could fix Dean’s problems with that smile, those kind eyes. So _clearly_ , Roman Reigns had to go.

 

And now, Dean _definitely_ needed to go.

 

Before Roman spotted him over his shades, trying to somehow shrink himself down behind the person in front of him in spite of his towering frame. _Just one more second_ , Dean pleaded with himself, unwilling to fully admit how much he had missed just _looking_ at the other man. _One more second, then I’ll go_.

 

It was a second too long though, and Dean cursed inwardly when Roman’s gaze landed on him as the other man picked up his coffee from the counter and took a sip. Those brown eyes went wide in shock.

 

Dean turned on his heel and sprinted out the door, his face burning hot with shame. He swore he heard Roman shout his name right as the door squeaked shut behind him, but he sure as hell wasn’t sticking around to find out.

 

“ _I can’t do this anymore_.”

 

The words he had thrown in Roman’s face instead of just _telling_ him he was having a hard time, telling him that everything was difficult and everything hurt but _no_ , he had to say that.

 

“ _I can’t do this anymore._ ”

 

Coward words, _liar_ words. Easier than coming clean to Roman, easier than talking about his vulnerabilities. Dean shook his head, thoroughly disgusted with his previous behavior.

 

A hand slammed shut on his arm just above his elbow and Ambrose bit back the instinct to throw a punch. The person had stopped him in his tracks; very few people possessed the strength it took to halt him when he had a full head of steam.

 

“Dean?” This hurt a lot more than Dean expected, if he was being honest. Roman didn’t even sound angry at him, like most of the other people in his life had if ever he accidentally cropped back up. Roman sounded cautious. “Sorry about grabbing you, I yelled your name a few times. Figured if you had an evil twin, I should apprehend him.” He continued awkwardly once he released Ambrose’s arm. Dean noticed that the bottoms of Roman’s khaki pants were stained with coffee and his hands were devoid of a cup. “How are things, Ambrose? How are you?” Roman asked after several seconds of silence where Dean just continued to stare at the other man’s empty hands.

 

Dean finally jerked his eyes up, nervously shoving his own hands into his pockets before he got the idea to do something crazy like _touch_ Roman. “I’m…” He cast around quickly for a good word, his brow furrowed as he thought. “I’m better.” He said finally, offering a weak smile to Roman. “I wasn’t for a while. I’m sure you put that together on your own, though.”

 

Roman, to Dean’s utter confusion, smiled back. “I did. That’s still great to hear, man. I know that when…uh, before, a lot of times it felt to me like you had something you needed to say, but you couldn’t figure out how to say it.” The _and it sure as hell wasn’t 'I can’t do this anymore’_ hung unspoken between them. Roman chuckled self-consciously to break another pause, taking off his sunglasses and resting them on top of his head. “Hey so, you surprised me to the point where I dropped my cup. I know you were waiting in line. Come back there with me and I’ll buy you a coffee?”

 

…

 

Roman coming back to his apartment was entirely coincidental. He _had_ bought Dean coffee, after all. It would be rude to send him on his way before they were done talking. And God, it was so strange. Roman was _listening_. To him! Dean was rambling before he knew it, bewildered but aware that he shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Ambrose paced in front of his couch as he talked and Roman made noises of agreement or laughed or sighed and it was _strange_.

 

Maybe they had both changed while they were apart. Dean knew _he_ certainly had. He would give anything to go back to that day and explain himself. Even if he broke down in the middle, it still would have been better than shoving Roman away the way that he had. He wondered, guiltily, if he could try again. If Roman would let him. Should he even…?

 

“Where did you go, Dean?” Roman asked gently and that was it, that settled it for Ambrose.

 

“I was scared, Roman.” Dean admitted. “I was scared and I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t know how to fix myself and you were always so good to me, I _knew_ I was gonna’ hurt you.”

 

“So you decided to push me away.”

 

“It ain’t an excuse, I know that shit. It’s never an excuse. I should have been honest with you, should have told you what was going on inside my head. Even…Even if I didn’t understand it one hundred percent myself. Maybe you would have stuck around. But if I was scary or fucked up I…I don’t know. I was terrified you would end up as collateral.” Dean was rambling again, wringing his hands wildly. “I would never forgive myself.”

 

Roman leaned forward on the couch for a moment, then got to his feet. Dean was shocked when the other man ran a hand carefully through his frazzled hair, smoothing it back from hanging in Dean’s face. “Ambrose, I knew something was wrong from the beginning.” His voice was so soft. “The way you would stare off into space, your fists balled all tight in your pockets. I wanted to help. Why do you think I always talked like this?”

 

“Most of the time I felt like a cornered animal, Roman. I didn’t wanna’…lash out because I was scared. I didn’t wanna’ admit that there was a _really_ wrong part of me.” Dean met Roman’s eyes fiercely, that old defiant streak daring Roman to say something to the contrary. “I’m better now. Work in progress. Recovery’s got a lotta’ steps, you know how it is.”

 

Roman smiled that smile again. “I do. And you _do_ seem better. I’m proud of you for getting the help that you needed.” He said sincerely.

 

Well _that_ was a new one. Normally Dean got the ’ _but you don’t seem_ ’ or ’ _it’s all in your head_ “. The ’ _have you tried yoga or meditating_ ’. Of _course_ it was all in his head, that was part of the problem. If a problem was all in his head, he was left to eat himself alive over it. But Roman didn’t think he was weak for getting help. Roman was proud of him.

 

“Roman, would you ever consider…” Dean trailed off, fidgeting with his hair. Roman looked at him expectantly and Dean found his own attention drawn to the sunglasses on top of his head. Slowly, carefully, Ambrose picked the sunglasses up and then slid them down over Roman’s eyes. “I wish I could go back, y'know?” Dean said instead, index finger tracing the frame of the glasses on the bridge of Roman’s nose. “I wish I could do things different.” _I wish I hadn’t hurt you_.

 

“I do too. I should have told you that you didn’t need to hide from me. I thought you needed space, as stereotypical as that sounds.” Roman rested his forehead against Dean’s just like he used to. “Should have told you that you didn’t scare me.”

 

“Yeah? Not even a little?” Dean grinned.

 

Roman rolled his eyes. “Not even a little.”

 

“Do you think maybe…” Ambrose hesitated, playing with the collar of Roman’s polo. “…maybe uh, if you were in the area, I could take _you_ out for coffee sometime?”

 

“That’s not what you’re _actually_ trying to ask, is it?”

 

“Sheesh, cut me some slack man. I’m still _bad_ at things.” Dean laughed ruefully. “You’re right, that isn’t what I’m tryin’ to ask. I…figured somethin’ like a coffee meetup would be better received, is all. Not tryin’ to rush you.”

 

Roman pressed a kiss to his forehead, stunning Dean silent. “Try again.” The larger man encouraged. Ambrose swallowed hard.

 

_I can’t do this anymore_.

 

“You wanna’ maybe do this again sometime? Just you and me, a bad movie and that half-burned popcorn I make?”

 

“I feel like half-burned is a _little_ generous, Ambrose.”

 

“Oh, excuse the hell out of me. Am I asking Roman Reigns or Gordon fuckin’ Ramsay for a date?”


End file.
